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American  Dramatists  Series 


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American  Dramatists  Series 

WILDERNESS  ROSE 

BY 

EVE  OWEN  COCHRAN 


A  play  in  four  acts  especially  adapted  for 

the   use   of  American   Historical  Societies 

and  Chapters  of  the  D.  A.  R. 


BOSTON:  THE  GORHAM  PRESS 

TORONTO:     THE    COPP    CLARK    CO.,   LIMITED 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Eve  Owen  Cochran 


All    Rights   Reserved 


MADE  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 

THE  QORHAM  PRESS,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


Dedicated  to  my  husband 
WILLIAM  MILLAR  COCHRAN 


37222G 


STORY  OF  THE  PLAY 

Mistress  Drew,  mother  of  three  unmarried  daugh 
ters,  becomes  jealous  of  Naomi  Dickinson,  because 
John  Sylvester,  the  Minister's  son,  had  admired 
Pentecost  Drew,  the  oldest  daughter,  until  Naomi 
and  her  father  came  to  the  settlement. 

After  Naomi's  father  dies  and  while  John  Sylves 
ter  is  away  finishing  a  course  of  study  at  Harvard, 
Mistress  Drew  spreads  the  story  that  Naomi  is  a 
witch.  She  rouses  such  prejudice  against  the  girl 
that  Naomi  under  the  guidance  of  Warawan,  a 
friendly  Indian,  plans  to  escape  to  another  settle 
ment  that  she  may  not  harm  her  lover's  work  for 
God. 

The  Selectmen  and  Council  appear  at  the  house 
of  the  Minister,  acquaint  him  with  their  intention  of 
arresting  and  trying  Mistress  Naomi,  and  in  spite  of 
his  defense  of  her  are  about  to  inform  her  of  their 
decree  when  the  meeting  is  broken  up  by  the  entrance 
of  Mistress  Drew  and  other  women,  who  have  just 
seen  Naomi  depart  with  the  "evil  one"  into  the  for 
est.  The  Minister  and  all  except  Goody,  caretaker 
for  the  Minister,  go  in  search  of  Naomi.  They  find 
her  with  Warawan,  the  friendly  Indian,  tending  the 
Indians  of  the  settlement  who  are  suffering  from 
small-pox.  They  being  unseen  by  her  are  glad  to 
escape  with  their  repentant  hearts  turned  in  her  fa 
vor. 

Meanwhile  Goody,  the  caretaker,  has  gone  to 
Naomi's  house  and  acquainted  her  with  the  decree 
of  the  Council.  Goody  and  Warawan  persuade 


Naomi  to  hasten  her  departure  that  night.  Want- 
wan,  who  has  heard  the  Minister  say  his  son  is  ex 
pected  to  return  that  night  trusts  to  meet  him  some 
where  upon  the  Bay  Road  and  to  give  Naomi  into 
his  care.  Naomi,  who  does  not  expect  her  lover  for 
some  days,  thinks  only  of  those  who  may  follow  her 
to  bring  her  back  to  trial. 

The  Minister  is  the  same  night  again  visited  by 
Mistress  Drew,  who  has  been  to  Naomi's  house  to 
offer  her  the  hospitality  of  her  home,  and  found  that 
she  has  fled.  Mistress  Drew  is  beside  herself  with 
remorse. 

The  men  all  go  out  to  search  for  Naomi.  They 
find  her  at  last  with  her  lover  on  the  Bay  Road.  He 
denounces  them  all  roundly  for  their  sin.  Naomi  is 
persuaded  to  return  and  all  ends  happily. 


WILDERNESS  ROSE 


A  PLAY  OF  THE  EARLY  COLONIAL 
PERIOD  IN  NEW  ENGLAND 

PERSONS  OF  THE  PLAY 

NAOMI  DICKINSON,  A  Puritan  maiden. 

STEPHEN  DICKINSON,  Her  aged  father. 

REV.  JONATHAN  SYLVESTER,  Minister. 

JOHN  SYLVESTER,  A  Harvard  student,  to  succeed  his 
father  as  minister  of  the  settlement. 

GOODY,  Caretaker  to  minister. 

RICHARD  SHEPARD,  A  farmer. 

ASA  STONE,  JOSEPH  BAYLEY,  Commissioners. 

DANIEL  TORREY,  ISRAEL  DREW,  Selectmen  with 
three  others. 

ANNA  DREW,  Wife  of  Israel. 

PENTECOST,  ABIGAIL,  LYDIA,  Their  daughters. 

GOODWIFE  PALMER,  A  widow,  in  love  with  Good 
man  Shepard. 

CALEB  STETSON,  Recorder. 

ELIZABETH  STETSON,  His  wife. 

MARGARET  STETSON,  Their  child. 

JOB  PRATT,  Constable. 

DINAH  PRATT,  His  wife. 

ABNER  PHILLIPS,  Drummer. 

WARAWAN,  A  friendly  Indian. 

Any  number  of  men,  women  and  their  children,  a 
few  friendly  Indians  with  their  squaws  and  papooses. 

Carlos  Troyer's  Indian  songs  may  be  used  by 
Warawan. 

Indian  music  by  orchestra  between  the  acts. 


WILDERNESS  ROSE 

ACT  I 

The  woodland  surrounding  a  little  Puritan  settle 
ment  of  Western  Massachusetts,  summer  of  1660. 

The  forest  trees  are  not  of  great  size  and  the  un 
derbrush  is  fairly  well  cleared  by  the  frequent  fires 
of  the  Indians  and  settlers.  Pine  trees  predominate, 
though  oaks  are  frequent.  The  background  shows  a 
range  of  hills  with  a  view  of  the  great  river.  The 
stage  shows  the  settlement  in  part ;  a  little  to  the  left 
the  meetinghouse  of  sawn  boards  (18x26)  and 
thatched  roof.  Window  at  either  side,  door  at  the 
end  facing  the  main  path  to  the  cabins.  On  the  front 
of  the  meetinghouse  are  posted  various  notices.  Paths 
lead  away  from  meetinghouse  in  different  directions 
and  rude  log-houses  with  stone  chimneys  at  end  and 
thatch  roofs,  straggle  at  intervals  along  the  paths. 

The  foreground  shows  the  main  path  leading  out 
of  the  settlement  (to  right  of  stage).  Back  of  and 
below  the  meetinghouse  (to  left  of  stage)  is  a  path 
to  the  brook  which  has  a  spring  of  drinking  water 
flowing  out  of  a  rock. 

(All  stage  directions  from  point  of  view  of  the 
audience). 

As  the  curtain  rises,  the  sound  of  a  drum  is  heard 
and  Abner  Phillips,  the  drummer,  appears  coming 
down  the  main  path  of  houses  toward  the  meeting 
house,  drumming  lustily.  From  the  houses  come  five 
men  who  meet  before  the  door  of  meetinghouse.  All 
II 


12  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

wear  the  regulation  Puritan  costume,  leather  leg- 
gins  and  jacket,  cloth  breeches  and  black  sugar-loaf 
hat,  deep  white  collar  and  cuffs.  All  carry  flint 
locks.  At  the  prolonged  beating  of  the  drum,  men, 
women  and  children  pour  out  of  the  houses  and  flock 
up  the  paths  to  the  meetinghouse.  In  spite  of  the 
"sad  colored"  Puritan  costumes  they  present  a  festive 
appearance  and  are  well  set  off  by  some  friendly  In 
dians  who  mingle  with  them,  the  squaws,  especially 
handsome  in  short  cloth  mantles  of  faded  red  or  blue 
with  leather  sleeves  and  beaded  belts,  they  are,  for 
the  most  part,  straight  and  slender  with  long  black 
hair  combed  back  and  confined  with  band.  The  chil 
dren  frisk  and  play  about  shooting  toy  arrows.  As 
all  approach  the  group  about  the  meetinghouse  door, 
the  leader  of  the  five  gestures  for  silence.  He  is 
spokesman  for  the  selectmen. 

DANIEL  TORREY — Neighbors  and  friends,  'tis  now 
far  past  the  time,  according  to  the  tidings  that  have 
come,  when  the  expected  strangers  from  the  east  to 
our  good  settlement,  should  have  arrived.  All  prep 
aration  has  been  made  by  these  (indicates  the  other 
four)  whom  ye  appointed  to  receive,  with  me,  the 
wayfarers  and  welcome  them  with  cheer.  As  best 
we  might  we  five  have  labored,  planned,  and  now 
affirm  with  praise  and  gratitude  that  temporary  hab 
itation,  food  and  plenty  is  assured  to  all. 

PEOPLE — It  is  well,  God  be  praised.  It  is  work 
well  done. 

TORREY — Truly,  I  think  it  does  behoove  us  now, 
as  hosts  to  fare  upon  the  path  away  to  meet  the 
strangers  and  with  aid  and  cheer,  conduct  them 
thither. 

( The  Minister,  very  old  and  stooped,  in  black  with 


ACT  I  13 

white  bands  steps  forward.  His  benign  face  radiates 
a  light  as  he  moves  along.  His  son,  dark,  manly, 
very  genial,  walks  beside,  as  if  to  support  him.  The 
old  man  stops  before  the  receiving  committee  and 
raises  his  hands  in  blessing). 

MINISTER — May  God  be  with  ye,  and  be  not  cast 
down,  if  ye  do  fare  a  longer  time  upon  the  way,  than 
now  is  thot  of,  for  it  well  may  be  that  some  upon  the 
journey  from  the  Bay  have  fallen  sick.  It  were  not 
strange,  indeed,  if  some  delay  hath  come  of  hostile 
ones  to  be  dealt  with  and  satisfied.  If  in  his  prov 
idence  God  hath — 

(He  is  interrupted  by  the  shrill  voice  of  a  woman 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  group). 

OLD  WOMAN — Minister!     Oh  Reverend  Sir! 

MINISTER — (Looking  over  the  heads  of  the 
group).  It  is  the  voice  of  Faithful  Mellen  speaks. 
What  would  you  say,  Faithful? 

OLD  WOMAN — (In  high  voice).  Oh  Reverend 
Sir,  I  have  far  sight,  and,  out  upon  the  path  I  see 
men  moving,  truly  it  is  so. 

(The  men  grasp  their  flint-locks). 

PEOPLE — Indians!  perchance  hostile  Indians!  In 
dians  !  Indians ! 

MINISTER — Warawan!  Where  is  our  faithful 
Warawan  ?  Come  forward  watchful  one  and  tell  us 
if  our  people  now  approach. 

WARAWAN — (Steps  forward.  Puts  his  ear  to  the 
ground  then  rises).  Ay,  friend  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
Warawan  hears  the  feet  of  his  white  brothers. 

OLD  WOMAN — (Querulously).  Yea,  'tis  not  In 
dians,  Faithful  Mellen  says,  and  she  has  eyes  to  see 
withal.  What,  pray  you,  friends,  would  hostile  In 
dians  do  upon  the  path  in  the  broad  light  of  day. 


14  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

(Cackles). 

TORREY — (Ignoring  the  old  woman,  coming  to 
front  again,  with  dignity).  Methinks  I,  too,  can 
glimpse  them,  Reverend  Sir. 

PEOPLE — Ay,  they  come!  They  come!  They 
come!  Let  us  go  to  meet  them.  (Children  frisk 
joyously  about). 

TORREY — Let  us  have  order  first.  Let  the  chil 
dren  be  not  too  boisterous  in  their  welcoming.  I 
think  'twere  well  if  our  beloved  and  most  reverend 
friend  and  Minister  were  first  upon  the  path,  his 
honored  son  beside  him  and  so  let  follow,  that  there 
be  some  calm,  we  whom  you  have  appointed,  next  the 
commissioners,  the  recorder  next,  the  constable  and 
then  the  families  in  good  and  regular  order.  (As  the 
names  of  the  different  officers  are  spoken  they  step 
into  line  and  stand  waiting). 

DRUMMER — (At  Torreys  elbow).  Am  I  not 
an  officer? 

CARETAKER  FOR  MEETINGHOUSE — And  I,  care 
taker  for  the  meetinghouse,  you  have  forgot,  I  should 
follow  next  after  the  Constable,  Goodman  Torrey. 

TORREY — (Waving  them  aside).  Peace,  Peace, 
'tis  no  time  for  quibbling.  Is  every  man  now  pres 
ent? 

SMALL  BOY — Nay,  the  cow-herd's  in  the  forest. 

MOTHER — (Boxing  his  ears  soundly).  Be  silent 
or  thou'll  be  sent  to  spell  him,  froward  one. 

MINISTER — (Facing  the  people).  My  people  let 
us  not  forget  the  day  we  came  upon  this  wilderness 
and  found  none  but  good  Warawan  to  give  us  cheer. 
Of  that  ye  have  in  store  give  liberally  and  with  glad 
hearts,  remembering  that  of  the  blessed  it  is  said  they 
took  the  stranger  in,  and  made  him  glad  who  was 


ACT  I  15 

athirst  and  hungered.  Come,  Goodman  Torrey,  let 
us  go  forward  now. 

(As  they  approach  the  path,  there  emerges  from 
the  woods  the  leader  of  the  little  band  of  newcomers, 
Goodman  Henchman,  a  dark  and  stalwart  man,  car 
rying  two  small  children,  walking  beside  him  his 
wife,  a  firm,  robust  woman). 

MINISTER — (To  Henchman).  Welcome!  Wel 
come!  Valiant  for  the  truth!  May  God  bless  and 
prosper  thee  in  this  new  home.  I  am  thy  Minister. 

HENCHMAN — God  be  praised  for  it  and  for  thy 
hearty  welcome,  Reverend  Sir.  I  am  called  Hench 
man,  this  is  my  wife  and  these  my  little  ones.  (He 
stands  by  the  minister  s  side  as  the  procession  comes 
down  the  path).  This  is  John  Herendeen  and  his 
bride  Lizabeth.  They  have  been  wed  a  month. 
This  is  their  first  home. 

MINISTER — (Taking  their  hands).  May  God 
who  only  makes  true  marriages  combine  your  hearts 
in  one. 

HENCHMAN — This  is  the  blacksmith  that  I  wrote 
thee  of,  Stephen  Flood,  and  his  wife  Judith. 

MINISTER — I  give  thee  hearty  welcome,  black 
smith.  Thou'rt  needed  here,  there's  much  work  for 
thy  hands.  These  are  thy  sons?  (Gazes  down  at 
two  half  grown  boys). 

BLACKSMITH — Ay,  twins,  Minister,  like  as  two 
chestnut  burrs,  and  bursting  with  mischief. 

MINISTER — (Smiling  down  at  boys).  Good  stuff 
for  building  of  our  Commonwealth. 

(An  old  man  approaches,  supported  by  a  maiden). 

HENCHMAN — Our  teacher,  Mr.  Dickinson,  fell 
sick  upon  the  journey.  (Indicates  the  old  man). 

HENCHMAN — This    is    his    daughter,    Mistress 


16  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

Naomi,  whose  gladsome  heart  has  cheered  us  all  the 
way. 

(Naomi  comes  into  the  open.  Her  gown  of  old 
blue  is  full  in  the  skirt  and  quite  short,  with  flat 
bodice,  white  collar,  cuffs  and  cap.  Her  golden  hair 
hangs  in  two  heavy  plaits.  Her  face  has  great  beauty, 
spiritual  as  compared  with  the  heavier  faces  of  the 
other  women.  Her  expression  is  one  of  great  interest 
in  her  strange  adventure.  The  Minister  looks  upon 
her  with  a  delight  in  her  beauty,  takes  her  hand.  She 
drops  her  eyes  modestly). 

MINISTER — Thou  art  welcome,  Mistress  Naomi, 
thou,  and  thy  sunny  heart  shall  do  us  good  as  thou 
hast  done  these  upon  the  journey's  way. 

(Drops  her  hand  and  turns  to  the  old  man). 

(She  lifts  her  eyes  and  meets  those  of  John  Syl 
vester,  dark  and  earnest,  fixed  upon  her.  He  comes 
toward  her  and  takes  her  hand.  They  are  observed 
as  they  stand  thus,  while  the  committee  wait  to  greet 
her). 

SYLVESTER — (Slowly,  and  as  tho  he  called  her). 
Naomi  Dickinson! 

NAOMI — (Wonderingly,  her  eyes  still  on  his). 
Yes. 

(He  lets  her  hand  fall  and  steps  aside  but  it  is  evi 
dent  that  he  has  eyes  for  no  other.  The  people  press 
about  her  and  greet  her  with  great  heartiness,  all  but 
n  little  group  in  the  foreground  Goody,  caretaker  to 
the  Minister,  Mistress  Drew  and  her  daughters,  Abi 
gail,  Lydia  and  Pentecost.) 

GOODY — (Mischievously  to  Mistress  Drew). 
Thus  fair  doth  call  to  fair,  Hail !  I  am  come  whom 
men  dub  love!  Did'st  note  the  meeting,  neighbor? 


ACT  I  17 

MISTRESS  DREW — Thou  art  ever  ready  with  thy 
tongue,  Goody. 

GOODY — Ay,  and  wi'  my  eye,  neighbor.  I'm  quick 
in  the  uptake  they  say. 

(Pentecost,  the  older  daughter,  the  finest  type  of 
New  England  womanhood,  possessed  of  mental  and 
spiritual  force  walks  frankly  to  Naomi  and  pleased 
with  her  loveliness  stands  with  an  arm  about  her). 

NAOMI — ( To  Pentecost) .  Methinks  Heaven  will 
be  like  to  this. 

PENTECOST — In  joy  and  greeting  greatly  like,  me- 
thinks.  Mistress  Naomi,  we  shall  be  friends.  Thou 
art  most  welcome,  truly.  Up  yonder  but  a  little 
space,  thy  father's  house  stands  waiting,  'twas  built 
for  him,  for  there  has  not  'till  now  been  teacher  here, 
and  he's  welcome,  as  thou  art. 

NAOMI — Mistress,  thou  art  most  kind,  'tis  writ 
ten  in  thine  eyes  so  frank  and  brown.  (Looks  into 
Pentecost's  eyes). 

MINISTER — (Raising  his  voice).   My  people! 

PEOPLE — Hush,  hush,  hush,  he  has  somewhat  to 
impart,  be  still,  be  still,  be  still. 

MINISTER — God  has  wrought  wonderfully  to 
bring  these  friends  through  the  strange  wilderness  to 
us  at  last,  where,  in  His  Providence,  they  shall  never 
want,  but  with  us  work  together  for  all  good.  And, 
now,  because  they  weary  and  need  staying,  guide 
them  into  their  homes,  comfort  them  as  ye  know  well 
how  to  do,  in  body  and  in  spirit.  May  God  have  all 
in  His  most  holy  keeping. 

(People  disperse,  John  Sylvester  conducting  the 
aged  teacher  and  Naomi  to  their  house.  Warawan 
sits  silently  under  a  tree  whittling.  No  one  pays 
him  any  heed.  He  is  a  familiar  figure  like  a  part 


1 8  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

of  the  landscape.  Last  of  all  to  leave  are  Good- 
wife  Drew  and  her  daughters.  Pentecost  has  joined 
the  group.  As  they  turn  to  go  away  (exit  to  left)  — 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (To  Pentecost,  angrily)  — 
Prithee,  come  along  and  fall  on  no  more  strangers' 
necks. 

PENTECOST — (Enthusiastically).  Is  she  not  pass 
ing  fair?  Not  in  our  buxom  way  but  like  a  flower. 

MISTRESS  DREW — (Sourly).  An  soon  plucked,  I 
doubt  not.  Did'st  note  how  Master  Sylvester's  eyes 
did  fix  themselves  upon  her  and  could  not  look  away? 
'Twas  very  marked.  Did'st  hear  what  that  old  med 
dler,  Parson's  Goody  said?  Give  heed  then,  Pente 
cost. 

ABIGAIL  DREW — Ay,  Master  Sylvester  stam 
mered  like  a  boy  caught  in  some  mischief,  could  not 
speak  at  all. 

LYDIA  DREW — Could  not,  sayest  thou?  Nay,  I 
was  nearer  and  I  heard  him  say  in  tones  that  thrilled 
the  marrow  of  my  bones,  "Naomi  Dickinson!" 

ABIGAIL — (Eagerly).  Nay,  Mistress  Naomi,  was 
it  not? 

LYDIA — (Shaking  her  head  emphatically).  Naomi 
Dickinson. 

PENTECOST — Her  beauty  did  amaze  him  and  'tis 
not  surprising,  there's  no  one  here  can  hold  a  candle 
to  her.  Methinks  she's  very  like  a  forest  flower. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Fiercely).  And  thou  art 
like  the  maize,  precious  and  full  of  virtue,  hold  what 
thou  hast  Pentecost.  He  has  cared  for  thee  I  know. 

PENTECOST — (Smiling).  Ay,  good  mother,  as  a 
companion  I  will  pass,  I  know.  Had  he  a  choice  of 
sisters  he'd  take  me,  mayhap. 

GOODWIFE     DREW  —  (Determinedly).     Prithee 


ACT  I  19 

cease  thy  folly,  I've  seen  him  look  at  thee  with  other 
eyes,  with  other  look,  I  say,  than  brother's  look. 
(Pointing  up  the  path).  See  how  they  go  like  lovers 
at  first  sight,  take  warning,  Pentecost. 

(As  they  disappear  from  view  Wara^van  gets  up 
-'nakes  a  gesture  of  scorn  toward  the  back  of  Mistress 
Drew.  On  his  face  is  keenest  intelligence). 

WARAWAN — Warawan  will  be  friend  to  little  an 
gel  one,  the  Great  Spirit  hears  the  red  brother  say  it. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

(A  year  later). 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  in  first  act,  but  centers 
at  the  town  brook,  back  of  and  a  little  below  meet 
ing-house  hill. 

It  is  afternoon  of  a  summer  day. 

At  the  brookside  are  several  goodwives  and  a 
woman-child  of  ten  years. 

The  women  are  dressed  in  rather  sober  colors, 
regulation  Puritan  costume.  Their  sleeves  are  drawn 
up  to  the  elbows  and  their  skirts  are  gathered  up. 
They  are  washing  new  cloth  and  skeins  of  flax  and 
yarn  in  the  brook. 

The  little  girl  in  brighter  blue  with  cap,  collar 
and  cuffs  of  white  is  a  small  edition  of  the  women. 
She  has  a  gay,  elfin  face  and  sprightly  body.  She 
is  engaged  with  filling  a  small  sack  with  butternut 
leaves  to  be  used  for  coloring  cloth. 

As  the  curtain  rises,  Goodwife  Drew,  stout,  red 
and  choleric,  stands  erect,  holding  aloft  and  scru 
tinizing  a  skein  of  flax  she  has  been  washing. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Ay,  'tis  a  year  gone  since  they 
came,  a  year. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Methinks  I  see  them  now 
as  they  came  filing  from  the  greenwood  shade.  'Twas 
a  goodly  sight. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Biting  off  her  words).  Last 
of  all  came  the  yellow-haired  wench  wi'  an  armful 
of  flowers. 

WIDOW  PALM ER —  ( Sighing  ro mantically  ) .  Aye, 
20 


ACT  II  21 

it  was  plain  as  plain,  love  at  first  sight  twixt  Par 
son's  son  and  Goldie  Locks.  Their  love  has  grown 
apace  this  little  year. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — I  doubt  not  they'll  wed 
soon.  In  truth  they  are  well  mated. 

MISTRESS  DREW — Nay,  'tis  not  true,  they  will 
not  wed. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — Thou  canst  not  change  the 
ways  of  Providence  with  thy  say  so,  neighbor.  'Tis 
true  they  are  in  love.  Best  swallow  it  and  done 
with. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Ay  they  are  in  love,  'tis  as 
plain  as  the  nose  on  my  face. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Sharply).  Then  'tis  plain 
enough. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — (Peaceably).  All  has  been 
hastened  by  the  maid's  loss.  I  knew  the  aged  man 
was  marked  for  death  and  I  did  say  as  much. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Ay,  verily  'twas  so.  He 
scarce  had  gathered  up  his  little  school  when  he  was 
gone.  'Twas  well  Mistress  Naomi  did  find  so  soon 
one  in  our  midst  to  love  her. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — They  say  Master  Sylvester 
scarce  can  bear  to  go  away  to  finish  college  now  it 
takes  him  from  her  side. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — They  say  the  Parson  has 
sent  o'er  to  bonnie  England  for  some  goods  to  fur 
nish  forth  the  wedding. 

GOODY — Aye  an'  Parson's  house  is  soon  to  be  en 
larged  and  beautified  for  Master  Sylvester's  bride. 

(Mistress  Drew  and  her  two  younger  daughters 
look  at  one  another  darkly). 

WIDOW  PALMER — Think  you  good  Mistress 
Drew,  the  selectmen  long  will  permit  Naomi  Dick- 


22  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

inson  to  keep  the  house  she  now  is  in? 

GOODWIFE  DREW—  (Sharply}.  'Twas  builded 
for  the  teacher;  an'  one  comes  out  goes  she. 

(Slaps  her  yarn  up  and  down  in  the  water  vigor 
ously). 

WIDOW  PALMER — (In  love  with  Goodman  Shep- 
ard).  Prithee,  Good  wife,  dost  like  the  latest  plan 
Mistress  Naomi  is  entering  on,  of  keeping  Goodman 
Shepard's  house  in  trim  and  caring  for  his  orphans  by 
the  day?  Methinks  it  is  not  seemly. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Nay  'tis  not  seemly.  'Twould 
be  for  her  best  good  that  she  should  marry  speedily, 
methinks. 

( The  widow  looks  crestfallen). 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — Does  Goodman  Shepard  think 
to  wed  again? 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Ay  they  do  say  he  dotes 
on  Pentecost. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Hotly).  They  say!  They 
say!  They  say! 

LYDIA  DREW — They  say  are  liars. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — But  is  there  truth  in't,  Mis 
tress  Drew,  tell  us  thy  neighbors  ? 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Very  excited).  Nay,  it  is 
not  so,  for  I  have  other  plans  for  Pentecost  who  am 
her  mother  and  do  wish  her  best.  Let  Goodman 
Shepard  look  elsewhere. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — 'Tis  certain  the  two  young 
Shepards  dote  on  Mistress  Naomi. 

MARGARET  STETSON — (The  child,  who  has 
missed  nothing  of  what  has  been  said) —  Ay,  they 
would  like  her  for  their  mother  well. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Keep  silence,  Margaret. 

MARGARET — (Persistently).     She  sings  to  them 


ACT  II  23 

so  sweet. 

GOOD  WIFE  DREW — (Bitterly).  'Tis  such  as  she 
do  sing  the  very  hearts  out  of  grave  men  that  have 
other  need  than  that  of  song-birds  for  to  help  them 
lead  God's  people  in  the  ways  of  grace  and  truth. 

WIDOW  PALMER — (Retaliation  in  her  eye).  How 
dost  thy  Pentecost,  good  Mistress  Drew?  Me- 
thought  her  cheeks  were  lacking  their  wild  rose  when 
last  I  looked  upon  her,  but  'tis  true  thy  daughters 
are  not  young  as  once  they  were 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Tartly).  But  they  are  not 
so  old  as  to  be  second  hand.  I  understand  not  Pen 
tecost,  but  she  is  mine  and  she  shall  be  whatever  I 
do  bid,  do  what  I  say  or  give  good  reason  else. 

MISTRESS  STETSON — They  do  say  Master  Syl 
vester's  to  receive  a  famous  English  dresser  when 
he's  wed. 

MISTRESS  DREW — Well,  the  time's  no  come 
yet,  let  the  lad  get  his  schooling. 

LYDIA  DREW — Aye  he'll  not  be  finished  till  Sep 
tember,  he  told  Pentecost. 

(The  other  women  look  wisely  at  one  another). 

WIDOW  PALMER — (Mincingly).  Aye,  he  told 
Pentecost. 

MISTRESS  STETSON — At  Parson's  house,  of  late,  I 
saw  the  wedding  chest  Master  Sylvester's  making 
for  his  bride,  'tis  carved  all  o'er  with  coat  of  arms 
and  letterin'.  Would  it  not  be  well  we  all  should 
make  a  gift  unto  his  bride? 

ABIGAIL  DREW — We  could  most  easy  fill  the  chest 
for  Pentecost.  I'll  give  a  table  cloth  of  honeycomb 
design  to  my  dear  sister. 

LYDIA  DREW — An'  I'll  give  towels  to  match. 

GOODWIFE   STETSON — (Noncommittally).     Aye, 


24  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

Penetcost  is  a  great  favorite  with  us  all  who  know 
her  worth. 

WIDOW  PALMER — But  I  knew  not  that  the  wor 
shipful  Minister's  good  son  came  to  thy  house  still, 
kindly  Mistress  Drew. 

MISTRESS  DREW — (In  a  tempest  of  rage).  Dost 
thou  know  every  move  of  the  settlement  ?  What  is't 
to  thee  who  seeks  my  daughter?  (Looks  angrily  at 
the  other  women}.  Or  thee,  or  thee,  or  anyone  in 
deed.  Have  done  or  thou  wilt  rue  it. 

MISTRESS  PRATT — Nay,  Goodwife  Drew,  she 
meant  not  any  harm,  for  we  all  have  heard  it  gos 
siped  that  Master  Sylvester  is  in  love  with  the  maid 
Naomi,  and  since  she  has  no  kin,  if  she  be  his  choice 
'twould  be  a  kindly  act  on  all  our  parts  to  fill  her 
wedding-chest  and  wish  her  well. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — They  will  not  wed.  Think 
you  that  one  who  has  known  love  for  my  Pentecost 
could  turn  from  her  to  loving  a  mere  witch? 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — Nay,  say  it  not !  Thou  know- 
est  'tis  not  true.  The  maid  is  innocent,  ay  and  most 
lovely. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Moreover,  Master  Sylves 
ter  never  has  declared  himself  for  Pentecost. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Bitterly).  Thou  knowest 
much  that  is  not  thy  business. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — I  am  for  truth  howe'er  it 
may  distress  thee  neighbor. 

WIDOW  PALMER — 'Tis  a  great  hardship  for  the 
lass  that  she's  so  beautiful.  Oho,  I  could  fall  in 
love  with  her  myself. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Ay,  thou  could'st  fall  in  love 
with  anything  that  chanced  to  look  thy  way.  'Tis 
wearisome  to  see  thy  lovelorn  state. 


ACT  II  25 

WIDOW  PALMER — Dost  say  so,  nay  do  not  thou 
test  me,  look  the  other  way. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — As  thy  friend,  Goodwife 
Drew,  I  warn  thee  keep  a  guard  upon  thy  tongue. 
'Twill  carry  thee  too  far.  Whether  men  seek  or 
whether  women  wed  is  in  God's  plan  I  take  it.  Let 
be,  let  be,  neighbor. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Aye,  sit  down  in  a  peck- 
measure  and  let  blithsome  fate  deal  as  she  will.  So, 
chicken-hearted  one  thou  art  afraid  of  truth,  canst 
not  bear  to  hear  things  called  by  their  own  proper 
names?  I  say  she  is  a  witch  and  thou  for  one  had'st 
best  keep  thy  eye  upon  thy  Margaret,  already  she's 
affected. 

WOMEN— Hush!  Hush!  Hush!  Hush!  Thou 
art  mad. 

MISTRESS  DREW — Nay,  very  sane  in  truth  and 
that  I'll  prove  to  thee,  or  thee  or  anyone  indeed. 

MISTRESS  PRATT — Aye  prove  it  then,  or  hold  thy 
peace  goodwife.  Thou  art  in  danger. 

MISTRESS  DREW — Aye  we  are  all  in  danger.  Hark 
ye  then,  night  after  night  these  eyes  have  seen  Mis 
tress  Dickinson  depart  her  house,  meet  on  the  wood's 
edge  with  a  black  man,  and  disappear,  and  though 
I've  watched  and  watched  never  yet  have  I  seen  her 
return.  Yet  in  the  morn  she's  back  at  Goodman 
Shepard's  tending  his  house  and  children. 

LYDIA  DREW — An'  looking  innocent  as  a  babe. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — Have  you,  too,  seen  her  go  at 
night  with  this  strange  creature  into  the  forest, 
Lydia? 

LYDIA  DREW — Aye,  an'  so  has  Abigail,  and  Good- 
wife  Henchman,  too. 


26  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

ABIGAIL  DREW — Certain  I  have.  Come  to  our 
house  this  night  and  we  will  show  thee.  Is  not  that 
so  Mother? 

MISTRESS  DREW — Aye,  come  at  nine  or  ten,  my 
Goodman  will  be  at  Council  Meeting  at  the  Par 
son's.  'Tis  something  after  ten  that  we  have  seen 
Mistress  Dickinson  depart  to  those  incantations  in 
the  forest,  her  like  are  given  to. 

MISTRESS  PRATT — I  would  be  convinced  one  way 
or  'tother,  wilt  thou  come  Mistress  Stetson? 

MISTRESS  STETSON — Aye,  I'll  come. 

GOODY — (Caretaker  to  the  Minister}.  And  I,  if 
so  be  I  can  get  away. 

WIDOW  PALMER — And  I. 

MISTRESS  DREW — I'll  convince  ye  or  never  speak 
again. 

MISTRESS  PRATT — Words!  Words!  Words! 
Thou  best  to  keep  them  all  behind  thy  lips  till  we  are 
once  convinced. 

(Suddenly  Goodwife  Drew  stands  erect  and  takes 
the  attitude  of  one  listening  intently  to  some  distant 
sound.  She  gestures  for  silence.  As  they  listen 
Warawan  appears  from  the  woods.  He  makes 
a  friendly  gesture  toward  the  group  and  comes 
to  the  spring  in  the  rock  to  drink.  He  has  been  hunt 
ing  and  carries  a  pair  of  grey  squirrels). 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Good  neighbors,  I  hear  sing 
ing.  Methinks  she  comes  of  whom  but  now  we  spake. 
Is  it  not  strange  she  should  come  hither  now  ? 

WIDOW  PALMER — Aye,  passing  strange  she 
should  so  oft'  appear  when  spoke  of. 

CHILD  MARGARET — Aye  mother,  like  an  angel, 


ACT  II  27 

unawares. 

MISTRESS  STETSON — (Pulling  the  child  aside). 
Hush  Margaret  come  with  me  into  the  shadow  of 
the  trees  till  she  hath  past. 

CHILD  MARGARET — (Pulling  back).  Nay,  I 
would  see  Mistress  Naomi  who  is  so  beautiful  and 
sings  so  sweet. 

GOOD  WIFE  DREW — (Bitterly).  Ay,  sings,  sings 
an'  her  own  father  but  six  months  in  his  grave.  A 
loving  daughter  truly. 

CHILD  MARGARET — (Rebukingly) .  Say  you  not 
so,  Mistress.  Schoolmaster  is  not  there,  he  is  six 
months  in  Heaven.  Mistress  Naomi  hath  told  me 
so.  She  knows. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — Keep  silence,  Margaret. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Darkly).  Ay,  when  I  was  a 
child  'twas  a  word  an'  a  blow  an'  the  blow  first  for 
frowardness. 

CHILD  MARGARET — Hush!  Hear  the  singing. 
Truly  'tis  Mistress  Naomi.  There  is  no  sound  like 
her  voice  in  the  wood. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — Ay,  more  than  one  is  of  thy 
way  of  thinking,  chick,  (cackles  and  looks  know 
ingly  at  Goodwife  Drew  who  grows  blacker.  A 
voice  close  at  hand  is  heard  singing). 

VOICE  OF  NAOMI — Oh,  God,  thou  art  my  God, 
early  I  will  for  Thee  enquire.  My  soul  thirsteth  for 
Thee,  my  flesh  for  Thee  has  strong  desire. 

(Naomi  Dickinson  appears  from  out  the  woods  on 
the  extreme  left,  beyond  the  brook.  Two  children, 
a  boy  and  a  girl  of  six  and  seven  years  are  with  her. 
They  carry  great  bunches  of  green  herbs,  and  in 
either  hand  she  has  an  Indian  basket,  heaped  with 


28  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

blueberries.  Her  gown  of  coarse  blue,  faded  from 
many  washings,  and  ungraceful  in  design,  cannot 
wholly  conceal  her  natural  graces.  Her  cap  dangles 
from  the  arm  of  the  little  girl  and  her  golden  hair  is 
garlanded  with  wild  flowers  which  the  children  have 
woven  into  a  wreath.  Much  of  her  charm  lies  in 
the  fact  of  her  unconsciousness  of  her  radiant  beauty 
as  she  approaches  the  women  at  the  brookside.  Her 
very  lovliness  kindles  afresh  the  rancour  of  Mistress 
Drew,  but  the  faces  of  the  other  women  soften  as 
she  approaches.  The  two  younger  daughters  of  Mis 
tress  Drew  eye  her  with  envy). 

NAOMI — Good-morrow,  friends.  (Holds  up  her 
baskets,  smiling).  See  from  the  generous  store 
house  nature  keeps  how  I  have  gathered  all  that  I 
can  bear.  Wilt  thou  not  share  with  me,  kind  neigh 
bors?  (Gestures  to  the  others). 

(She  smiles  at  Warawan  and  sets  down  her  bask 
ets.  She  stoops  to  the  spring  that  gushes  from  the 
rock  and  drenching  her  hand  dampens  the  warm  fore 
heads  of  the  children,  then  catching  some  water  skill 
fully  in  her  palms,  she  gives  them  to  drink). 

(The  women  continue  to  gaze  at  her). 

GOOEWIFE  DREW — (Turning  upon  the  little 
girl  sharply).  Dost  know  thy  catechism,  Patience? 

( The  child  hides  her  face  in  Naomi  s  dress  turn 
ing  and  twisting  about). 

NAOMI — (Laughing).  She  hath,  today,  begun 
to  learn,  goodwife.  Tell  what  thou  knowest,  little 
Patience.  (The  child  remains  silent). 

NAOMI — Nay,  little  Patience,  be  not  so  shy  of  thy 
newfound  knowledge.  Wilt  speak,  child? 


ACT  II  29 

PATIENCE—  (Stubbornly}.  Nay,  I'll  not  say  it 
now.  (Looks  distastefully  at  Good-wife  Drew). 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Harshly).  'Twere  well  an' 
thou  taught  her  obedience  to  her  elders  whom  she 
has  seen,  then  may  she  the  more  readily  obey  Him 
who  is  unseen. 

NAOMI — Unseen?  Nay,  goodwife,  God  is  not 
unseen  by  them  that  love  Him.  He  walks  abroad  in 
the  beauty  of  this  wilderness.  (Her  face  assumes  a 
rapt  expression).  I  see  Him  everywhere. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Meaningly).  Ay,  I  have 
heard  of  eyes  that  see  what  others  cannot  see. 
(Makes  some  motion  quickly  with  her  hands). 

THE  CHILD  MARGARET — Why  does  Mistress 
Drew  cross  her  thumbs  so,  mother?  (Crosses  her 
own  thumbs) . 

(The  two  little  children  cross  their  thumbs  and 
dance  about  Margaret). 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — (Breathlessly).  Hush, 
Margaret. 

MARGARET — (Big-eyed).      Why    does    Mistress 
Drew  cross  her  thumbs  so  ? 
(Crosses  her  own). 
(All  look  askance). 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Angrily).  'Tis  all  eyes, 
thy  child,  neighbor. 

GOODWIFE  STETSON — (Calmly).  Ay,  she  sees 
clearly,  very  clearly.  Come  Margaret,  come  away. 

MARGARET — (Wistfully  smiling).  The  trees 
and  the  flowers  are  God's  thoughts,  is  it  not  so  Mis 
tress  Naomi? 

GOODWIFE   DREW — (Quickly).     Nay,    the   Al- 


30  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

mighty  sitteth  in  the  Heavens.     His  thoughts  are 
afar  off.     Fear  Him. 

NAOMI — (Bending  over  the  children).  He  took 
children  in  His  arms  and  blessed  them,  saying, 
"Suffer  them  to  come  unto  Me  for  of  such  is  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven." 

(Warawan  and  the  three  children  look  at  her 
entranced) . 

( Goodwife  Drew  with  a  gesture  draws  the  atten 
tion  of  the  other  women  to  the  faces  of  the  Indian 
and  the  children.  Again  she  makes  the  motion  with 
her  hands.  Goodwife  Stetson  with  a  look  of  fear 
seizes  little  Margaret  and  hurries  up  the  path  toward 
the  settlement.  Naomi  and  the  children  wave  to  the 
little  girl  and  she  calls  back  to  them). 

MARGARET — Sing  more  sweet  Mistress  Naomi. 
Often  I  hear  you  singing  in  my  dreams  and  know 
that  you  are  near  me. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Again  crossing  her  thumbs). 
Present  and  yet  not  present. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — (Kindly).  Nay,  maiden,  sing 
no  more  I  caution  thee.  Have  not  the  wise  select 
men  decreed  that,  henceforth,  only  in  the  meeting 
house  shall  voice  be  raised  in  praise.  It  is  not  seemly 
so  to  sing  and  chant. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Sourly).  Ay,  thou  art  mak 
ing  light  of  Holy  Psalms  with  thy  continual  turn 
te  turn,  te  turn.  The  selectmen  shall  hear  of  this,  be 
sure,  and  you'll  be  brought  to  task.  Leave  singing  to 
the  heathen.  (She  glances  at  Warawan  but  he  appar 
ently  does  not  heed). 

NAOMI — (Wistfully).  I  sing  for  gladness  of  my 
soul,  goodwives.  Here  in  the  beauty  of  the  wilder- 


ACT  II  31 

ness,  in  the  vast  silences,  in  our  common  life,  I  have 
found  God.  I  know  that  He  is  here.  Ah,  the  great 
happiness  I  know  makes  my  lips  move  in  praise, 
nay,  I  must  sing,  goodwives.  ( Warawan  begins  sot- 
to  voce  an  Indian  chant}. 

GOODWIFE  PRATT — (Kindly).  'Twere  safer  thou 
wert  spinning,  I  do  think,  or  carding  of  the  wool, 
knitting  at  least. 

ABIGAIL  DREW — Ay,  right,  whilst  others  of  thy 
age  are  hard  at  work  thou  art  at  child's  play  berryin' 
in  the  fields.  Thou  wilt  need  raiment  ere  the  year 
is  gone.  Who's  to  supply  it,  think  you? 

(A  shrewd  and  sinister  look  takes  possession  of 
her  face). 

LYDIA  DREW — Wilt  thou  marry  then  or  go  like 
the  lilies  of  the  field  that  do  not  spin  ? 

WIDOW  PALMER — Ha!  Ha!  Methinks  the  Se 
lectmen  would  have  somewhat  to  say  to  her  if  so 
she  chose. 

NAOMI — (Distressed  and  puzzled).  Neighbors, 
ye  know  I  have  not  that  with  which  to  spin  (sud 
denly  brightening)  but  I  do  know  for  certain  that 
my  God  has  me  in  His  safe  keeping,  I  shall  not 
want,  indeed  I  shall  not  want.  Come  little  ones, 
come  home.  (Picks  up  her  baskets  and  starts  up  the 
path). 

(The  women  have  wrung  out  their  cloth  and  yarn 
and  are  ready  to  follow  toward  cabins). 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Calling  after  Naomi).  Be 
not  in  such  haste  lest  thou  break  thy  tryst,  Mis 
tress  Innocence.  (She  looks  meaningly  down  the 
path  to  the  left). 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Come  neighbors,  let's  be  gone. 


32  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

Ye'll  not  forget  tonight.  I'll  prove  my  words  or 
never  speak  again. 

(Women  exit  by  path  that  leads  to  settlement  and 
Warawan  suddenly  is  gone  among  the  trees.  John 
Sylvester  comes  up  the  path  from  the  left  with  some 
newly  sawn  planks  on  his  shoulder.  His  face  lights 
up  with  pleasure  as  he  sees  Naomi). 

SYLVESTER — Spirit  of  loveliness  and  grace,  do  I 
indeed  behold  thee? 

NAOMI — (Shyly).  Nay,  it  is  I  only,  Master 
Sylvester,  mystified,  provoked  by  some  misunder 
standing,  I  know  not  what  it  may  be,  with  my  good 
r/eighbors,  yonder.  (Points  to  the  disappearing  wo 
men}. 

( The  two  children  run  to  him  and  he  puts  down 
his  planks  to  toss  first  one  child  and  then  the  other  in 
the  air). 

SYLVESTER — Well  met,  small  Shepard,  and  well 
j-net  Patience,  hast  thou  been  with  my  lady  in  the 
fields?  (Both  children  nod  gleefully). 

LITTLE  GIRL — Is  our  lady  thy  lady,  Master  Syl 
vester  ? 

SYLVESTER — (Heartily).  The  only  lady  in  the 
world  for  me,  chick.  (To  Naomi).  Give  me  to 
drink  from  thy  hand,  dearest  heart,  as  I  have  often 
seen  thee  give  to  these  (indicates  the  children). 

NAOMI — Nay,  for  I  must  be  gone,  friend.  I  have 
work  to  do.  Come  little  ones. 

SYLVESTER — (Tenderly).  Give  me  to  drink, 
clear  heart,  and  thou  shalt  go,  perhaps. 

(She  looks  at  him  as  one  who  must  be  obeyed, 
puts  her  hands  together,  and  fills  the  hollow  with 
spring-water.  He  stoops  and  drinks). 


ACT  II  33 

SYLVESTER — Sweet,  I  do  drink  to  that  most  love 
ly  one  who  has  my  heart  in  keeping. 

NAOMI — (Breathlessly).     Master  Sylvester! 

SYLVESTER — Say  John,  my  heart's  love. 

NAOMI — Nay,  nay,  I  am  not  worthy. 

LITTLE  BOY — Master  Sylvester,  tell  me  what 
means  it  to  cross  the  thumbs  so?  (Crosses  his 
thumbs) . 

SYLVESTER — (Not  much  heeding).  My  little 
Shepard  it  means  naught  at  all. 

NAOMI — Nay,  friend,  I  pray  thee  tell.  I  would 
know,  too.  Quick,  for  I  must  be  gone. 

SYLVESTER — Thou  shalt  be  gone  when  'tis  my 
will,  Sweeting,  not  before.  Tell  me —  (He  seizes 
her  hands  and  holds  them  against  his  breast).  Tell 
me,  wilt  thou  be  my  wife  ?  I  love  thee,  Naomi,  only 
thee  forever. 

NAOMI — Nay,  'tis  not  fitting,  friend,  indeed  it 
may  not  be.  I  am  so  poor,  I  am  so  alone. 

SYLVESTER — (In  deep  tone).  Then  will  I  go 
unwed,  Naomi. 

NAOMI — (Distressed).  Nay,  say  not  so,  dear 
friend,  for  thou  mayst  choose  of  all  the  settlement 
the  noblest  and  the  best.  I  who  am  thy  friend  do 
— do  wish  it. 

(He  turns  her  face  up  to  his  and  looks  her  in  the 
eyes.  She  closes  her  eyes,  strives  to  turn  her  face 
away ) . 

SYLVESTER — (Smiling  tenderly).  Say  after  me — 
I  do  not  love  thee,  never  can  love  thee,  sir. 

NAOMI — I — I. 

(He  presses  her  face  to  his  breast). 

SYLVESTER — Thou  canst  not  say  it.     Thou  art 


34  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

truth  itself  and  them  dost  love  me  as  I  love  thee, 
Sweet.  Its  settled,  Naomi.  Say,  I  love  thee,  John. 

NAOMI — (Smiles  and  tears}.  I  love  thee,  love 
thee,  love  thee.  (They  kiss). 

SYLVESTER — To-morrow  I  go  back  to  college, 
love,  one  little  month  more  and  I  shall  return  to 
claim  my  bride,  my  rose  of  wilderness. 

LITTLE  GIRL — (In  shrill  voice).  Master  Syl 
vester,  what  means  it  when  the  thumbs  be  crossed 
so? 

(Crosses  her  thumbs). 

SYLVESTER — (Suddenly  aware  of  the  two  chil 
dren).  A  plague  on  the  little  midges.  What  aileth 
thee,  child  ?  Who  so  crossed  the  thumbs  ? 

LITTLE  GIRL — 'Twas  Mistress  Drew,  so  please 
you  sir. 

LITTLE  BOY — (Dancing  about  impishly).  Ay, 
crossed  and  crossed  and  crossed  her  very  thumbs. 

SYLVESTER — What  mean  the  little  sprites,  Na 
omi? 

NAOMI — (Still  within  his  arm).  'Tis  true  the 
Goodwife  made  a  gesture  of  that  sort  when  I  was 
talking  with  her  today. 

SYLVESTER — (Disgustedly).  'Tis  but  a  pagan 
charm  for  driving  witches  off.  I  did  think  better 
things  of  Mistress  Drew  than  she  should  deal  in  such 
absurdities. 

NAOMI — Witches,  say'st  thou,  and  why  here,  to 
cross  her  thumbs  where  we  are  neighbors  true  ? 

(A  shadow  passes  over  his  face  and  is  gone). 

SYLVESTER — Let  us  forget  it,  sweet,  'tis  nothing 
worth.  Say  rather,  again,  thou  dost  love  me  and 
will  love  forever  and  for  aye. 


ACT  II  35 

NAOMI — Thou  knowest,  nay  my  very  heart  that 
sings  for  praise  and  love  hath  brought  me  condem 
nation  but  today.  And  thou  dost  truly,  truly,  care 
for  me  ? 

SYLVESTER — I  love  thee  for  all  time  and  after 
time.  That  bright  spirit  full  of  hope  and  joy  is  like 
a  spur  to  urge  me  to  the  heights  that  God  doth  des 
tine  for  me.  Naomi? 

NAOMI — My  Minister,  and  my  friend,  and  lover, 
too,  what  would'st  thou? 

SYLVESTER — Shine  on  me  like  a  light  from  God 
and  help  me  strive  to  work  His  works  Whose  call  I 
would  obey. 

NAOMI — Love,  I  would  rather  be  thy  mate  and 
aid  to  make  this  wilderness  a  heavenly  spot  than  be 
enthroned  queen  of  the  greatest  state  the  world  doth 
know  to-day. 

SYLVESTER — Happily  spoken  like  my  own  angel. 
Let  us  go.  Come  little  ones,  come  now. 

(Turns  to  the  children.  They  are  seen  to  be 
frisking  about  with  their  thumbs  persistently  crossed. 
A  cloud  passes  over  Sylvester's  face,  Naomi  turns 
pale}. 

SYLVESTER — Foolish  ones,  what  mean  you?  (Re 
places  his  arm  about  Naomi}.  Let  it  not  fret  you, 
sweet. 

LITTLE  BOY — (Mischievously}.  We  would  keep 
the  Evil  One  away. 

LITTLE  BOY  AND  GIRL — Away !    Away !    Away ! 

(They  circle  about  the  two  with  crossed  thumbs}. 

(From  the  woods  near  the  settlement  Mistress 
Drew  is  seen  observing  the  love  scene.  Lurking  in 
the  opposite  wood  Warawan  sees  the  woman  and  the 
lovers.  His  face  has  a  look  of  keen  intelligence}. 


36  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

WARAWAN — Angel  One  has  great  need  of  her  red 
brother.  Warawan  will  care  for  her.  The  Great 
Spirit  hears  Warawan  say  it. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

SCENE  I 

(Fall  of  the  same  year). 

Interior  of  Minister's  house. 

The  main  room,  entrance  to  left  (front)  a  ladder 
in  far  right  hand  corner  leads  up  to  loft. 

At  right  hand,  near  front  of  stage,  a  door  leads 
to  leanto. 

The  room  is  of  sawn  boards  with  heavy  beams 
across  the  ceiling,  smoke  darkened. 

At  back  of  room  is  huge  stone  fire-place  (12x15) 
with  large  log  smouldering.  There  is  a  crane  with 
brass  pot  hanging  from  it,  and  stone  seats  on  either 
side  inside  the  fireplace. 

A  bread-peel  hangs  on  left  of  chimney  and  brass 
warming-pan  on  the  right. 

Over  the  fireplace  and  from  the  beams  are  hung 
strings  of  dried  apples  and  bunches  of  drying  herbs. 

An  English  dresser  stands  at  the  left  wall  with 
brass  and  pewter  in  neat  order. 

Over  the  dresser  on  some  antlers  hangs  a  flint 
lock  and  a  sword. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  a  table-board  on  trestles 
is  set  for  the  evening  meal.  It  is  covered  with  a 
snow-white  cloth. 

Three  square  wooden   trenchers  are  set,  one  at 
head  of  table  one  at  foot  and  one  opposite  fire,  at 
each  place  there  is  also  a  pewter  spoon,  a  knife,  and 
a  stone  mug  with  handle. 
37 


38  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

A  large  round  wooden  trencher  stands  before  the 
place  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

A  short  bench,  on  trestles,  stands  before  head 
and  foot  of  table  and  one  at  the  end  facing  the  fire. 

The  burning  log  partially  lights  the  room  and  on 
a  flat  stone  in  front  of  the  fireplace  and  leaning 
against  it  is  a  pine  torch  burning  brightly. 

As  the  curtain  rises  Goody,  the  caretaker,  is 
seen  lifting  the  brass  pot  from  the  crane.  She  sets 
it  on  a  bench  and  stirs  the  contents  with  a  wooden 
spoon. 

GOODY — Methinks  he  must  come  soon.  What 
with  sick  red-skins,  tittle  tattle  and  complaint  and 
this. and  that,  they'll  keep  his  tottering  feet  amove 
I  warrant.  (Sniffs  at  the  ragout  in  the  pot}.  I 
would  that  Master  John  might  come  tonight.  'Tis 
he  knows  how  to  eat  and  joy  my  cookery.  Eh! 
Whit  with  your  colleges  and  this  and  that  he's 
never  here  at  all.  But  ministers  mun  be  made  o' 
course,  o'  course. 

(There  is  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door.  Goody 
opens  it  and  Naomi  is  seen  white  and  distraught). 

NAOMI — Oh,  Goody,  I  would  see  the  Minister, 
nay,  I  must  see  him  speedily.  The  time  is  short. 

(Goody  puts  an  arm  about  her  soothingly  and 
leads  her  in). 

GOODY — Nay,  Parson's  not  here,  birdling.  Canst 
not  tell  Goody  what  doth  ail  thee  ? 

NAOMI —  ( Wildy ) .  Doth  he  yet  know  what  they 
do  say  of  me,  Goody?  That  I,  that  I. —  An'  I'm 
not  mad  already  I  soon  shall  be,  I  fear.  My  brain 
doth  reel  with  lies,  flung  at  me  like  poisoned  tipped 
arrows.  They  say  I  am  a  witch ! 


ACT  III  39 

GOODY — (Rocking  the  girl  in  her  arms).  Hush, 
Hush.  It  hath  been  kept  from  Parson  till  such  time 
as  his  son  should  come  home  and  deal  with  it  as 
all  lies  should  be  dealt  with.  I  am  thy  friend  and 
they  are  more,  my  lamb,  believe  thee  innocent  than 
them  that  doubt  thee. 

NAOMI — They  say  I  am  a  witch.    Oh,  woe  is  me ! 

GOODY — Nay,  but  thy  Love  '11  be  with  us  full 
soon.  He'll  set  all  right.  Take  heart  poor  lass,  poor 
lass. 

NAOMI — Goody,  you  do  believe  in  me,  I  know. 
Oh  bless  you,  bless  you,  I  am  more  myself  at  the 
mere  thought. 

GOODY — Ay,  I  believe  in  thee,  I  know  that  thou 
art  good  as  any  angel  God  e'er  sent  to  this  earth  to 
teach  the  heathen  how  to  love  and  serve.  Thou  art 
a  fit  mate  for  thy  lover,  lass,  be  of  good  courage.  If 
thou  wouldst  mate  with  the  eagle  thou  must  have  a 
strong  wing. 

NAOMI — (Lifts  her  face  from  the  old  woman  s 
shoulder  and  looks  into  her  eyes).  Goody,  thou  art 
inspired,  I  think,  a  strong  wing  would  bear  me  far, 
would  it  not? 

GOODY — Aye,  my  lass,  'tis  thine.  Thou  art  of 
the  stuff  of  heroes.  Tell  me  now  thy  message  for 
the  Minister.  He'll  be  here  soon.  Canst  thou  not 
wait? 

NAOMI — (With  a  look  of  exaltation).  Nay, 
'twas  nothing  worth.  Say  naught  to  him,  dear 
Goody,  or  else  say  I  came  to  him  on  the  wings  of  a 
sparrow  and  departed  on  eagles'  wings.  Say  I  have 
fought  the  good  fight,  Goody,  and  have  kept  the 
faith.  Goody,  I  love  thee.  Thou  hast  saved  me  I 


40  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

do  think.  Strong  wings,  Goody,  I  have  them  now. 
(She  flings  her  arms  about  the  old  woman,  and 
goes  out). 

GOODY — (Puttering  over  the  kettle).  How  many 
lives  since  Adam's  day  have  been  blasted  by  gos 
sip.  Ah,  well,  Master  Sylvester  will  set  the  matter 
right  I  warrant. 

(There  is  a  step  outside  the  house.  The  door 
opens  and  the  Minister  in  his  black  suit  comes  in. 
The  white  band  about  his  neck  is  not  much  whiter 
than  his  weary  old  face). 

MINISTER — Ah,  Goody,  home  at  last,  and  very 
welcome  smells  the  meat  and  looks  the  light  and 
cheer  to  me. 

GOODY — (Bustling  about).  Ay,  an'  full  time 
that  ye  came,  Minister,  with  everything  getting  cold 
and  ye  like  to  drop  for  weariness  an'  hunger.  Sit  ye 
down.  (Fills  the  big  trencher  with  ragout). 
^  MINISTER — (Seating  himself  at  head  of  table). 
Goody ! 

GOODY — Ay,  Minister,  comin'  (stands  at  foot  of 
table  and  bows  her  head  while  he  is  blessing  the 
meat). 

MINISTER — (Beginning  his  meal).  Well  may 
we  praise  God,  Goody.  The  Indians  are  better 
of  the  pox,  of  that  I  am  quite  sure.  Our  harvests 
all  are  plenteous,  and  for  me,  my  son  will  soon  re 
turn  with  his  new  honors  from  the  College.  Soon 
we  shall  ordain  him  here,  God's  Minister,  with 
solemn  laying  on  of  hands  and  reverent  prayer. 

GOODY — (Seats  herself  at  foot  of  table  after  fill 
ing  the  trencher) .  He's  worthier  of  a  happier  state, 
methinks. 


ACT  III  41 

MINISTER — (Half  laughing).  Goody!  Goody! 
Thy  tongue  was  ever  an  unruly  member. 

GOODY — (Tossing  her  head).  The  Indian,  War- 
awan,  was  here  this  morning  seeking  thee.  Hast 
thou  seen  aught  of  him? 

MINISTER — Nay  what  did  he  desire? 

GOODY — That  I  cannot  tell,  what  with  his  ges 
tures  and  his  gruntings  he  made  naught  plain  to 
me  b  it  that  he  was  in  the  way  ol  being  much  dis 
traught,  and  like  his  betters  in  this  settlement  came 
here  to  be  set  right.  Ay,  poor  Master  John !  'Tis 
a  life  he  will  lead  when  he  comes  to  minister  to 
this  people. 

( The  door  opens  noiselessly  and  Warawan  comes 
in.  He  makes  a  sort  of  obeisance  to  the  Minister.) 

MINISTER — (Beckons  the  Indian  to  the  table- 
board).  That's  as  God  wills,  Goody,  my  son  has  a 
strong  heart  and  a  merry,  a  conscience  clear  as  cry 
stal  and  a  soul  that  knows  no  fear  save  fear  of 
Mighty  God.  Give  meat  to  our  red  brother,  Goody. 

(Having  finished  his  meal  the  Minister  pushes 
his  trencher  back  rises  and  goes  to  the  fireplace  takes 
some  papers  from  his  pocket  and  sits  down  on  the 
chimney-seat  opposite  Warawan.) 

MINISTER — Come  Warawan,  faithful  one,  sit 
thee  down  and  eat,  there  in  my  «on's  place. 

(Indicates  the  vacant  seat  at  the  table.  Wara 
wan  shakes  his  head,  takes  the  trencher  from  Goody 
and  remains  on  the  fireside  bench). 

GOODY — Canst  thou  not  rest  awhile,  Minister, 
an'  not  be  peering  with  those  tired  eyes  at  yonder 
studyin'  ? 

MINISTER — I  know  well  Goody,  thou  would'st 
have  me  rust,  but  I  must  be  about  my  Father's  work. 


42  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

(Goody  busies  herself  about  the  table  and  dishes. 
All  is  serene  in  the  room.  Outside  there  are  voices. 
A  knock  sounds  at  the  door.) 

GOODY — (Opening  door  and  peering  into  the 
dark  turns  to  the  old  man  by  the  fire).  'Tis  the 
Commissioners,  Worshipful  Sir. 

(Minister  rises  and  goes  forward  to  meet  them. 
The  two  men  enter  doff  their  hats  and  shake  hands 
solemnly  with  the  Minister). 

MINISTER — I'm  glad  to  greet  thee,  Mr.  Bayley, 
and  thee  too  Asa  Stone,  good  men  and  true.  Sit  ye 
down  and  let  us  talk  together  for  I  am  lonely  with 
my  son  still  at  Harvard. 

(  They  sit  down  stiffly  at  either  end  of  the  bench, 
facing  him  in  his  rude  chair }  at  left  of  fire-place). 

BAYLEY — (Clearing  his  throat  and  glancing  fur 
tively  at  Stone).  Ay,  it  must  be  so.  When  will 
he  be  coming  back  from  the  College,  Minister? 

MINISTER — (Meditatively).  Tonight,  methinks 
he'll  come.  Day  before  yesterday  he  received  his 
honors  and  was  privileged  to  listen  to  the  orations 
of  learned  men,  in  Latin,  Greek  and  Hebrew.  He 
heard  words  of  sacred  teaching  and  such  prayers  as 
quicken  hearts  for  great  achievement  in  God's 
world.  Yea  he  is  even  now  upon  the  way,  methinks, 
hastening  to  tell  me  what  transpired  I  could  not  go 
to  witness. 

STONE — (Clearing  his  throat).  'Tis  a  keen  even 
ing  for  September,  Sir. 

MINISTER — Ay,  my  old  bones  did  feel  the  chill  to 
day.  I  have  been  out  among  our  Indians.  The  pox 
is  not  yet  gone  from  them,  it  has  been  a  hard  scourge 
and  a  long. 


ACT  III  43 

BAYLEY — (Preternaturally  solemn).  Ay,  'twas  a 
pestilence.  (There  is  silence,  broken  at  last  by 
Stone). 

STONE — We  are  come  of  a  purpose,  tonight,  Min 
ister. 

BAYLEY — (Solemnly).    Ay,  of  a  purpose. 

MINISTER — (Scrutinizing  them).  Say  you  so, 
friends  ?  Well  here  I  am  and  glad  as  e'er  to  serve  you 
in  the  name  of  my  dear  Master  and  your  own.  Speak 
on. 

STONE — (Clearing  his  throat).  Hast  thou  heard 
yet  the  rumors  going  round  concerning  Mistress 
Dickinson,  the  maid? 

MINISTER — (Sitting  up  straight,  his  hands  grasp 
ing  the^  arm  of  his  chair).  Tell  me  if  it  be  anything 
that  with  God's  aid  I  yet  may  remedy  ? 

BAYLEY — 'Tis  evidenced  by  some  that  she  hath 
made  a  compact  with  the  Evil  One  and  works  his 
works  of  darkness  in  our  very  midst. 

MINISTER — (In  a  loud  voice).  Say  ye  not  so, 
goodman,  for  it  partakes  of  blasphemy  when  said  of 
one  so  strong  in  Holy  Trust.  Judge  not,  lest  haply 
ye  be  judged  one  day  by  that  same  measure  that  ye 
mete  to  her.  I  love  the  maid  as  my  own  blood  ay, 
and  believe  in  her. 

STONE — (Darkly).  If  this  vile  thing  be  true, 
she  doth  not  merit  pity,  righteous  Minister. 

MINISTER—  (Wearily).  Say  on,  say  on.  Knows 
the  poor  maid  aught  of  this  ? 

STONE — Ay,  the  women  have  many  times  accused 
her,  called  her  witch.  It  is  thought  best  that  she  be 
refused  communion  on  next  Sabbath.  (Minister 
groans).  Be  not  dismayed  at  what  we  bring  thee 
with  regret.  They  say  that  she  has  cast  the  Evil 


44  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

Eye  upon  thy  son,  destined  by  God  to  guide  this 
people,  now  thou  art  ready  to  lay  down  the  yoke. 
Think  on  this  thing. 

MINISTER — I  know  that  she  hath  a  great  love  for 
my  son  and  he  for  her.  Tell  me,  who  hath  wrought 
this  fabric  of  lies  in  our  midst. 

BAYLEY — Many  have  suffered  her  wiles,  Re 
verend  Sir,  and  ye  shall  know  all.  One  has  been 
asked  to  come  here  who  knows  the  worst.  She  will 
lay  before  us  all  that  has  been  discovered.  Ay,  for 
all  do  know  thou  holdest  not  with  witchcraft  and 
its  doings  and  are  set  against  it  as  the  hills  out  yon 
der.  Hence,  'twas  thought  best  to  tell  thee  ere  ac 
tion  was  taken. 

(A  knocking  at  the  door.  Five  selectmen  enter 
accompanied  by  Mistress  Drew). 

MINISTER — (Shaking  their  hands).  Give  you 
good  evening,  sirs.  I  never  thought  'twould  grieve 
me  thus  to  greet  ye.  ( Gestures  them  to  take  seats  on 
the  bench).  Good  even,  Mistress  Drew. 

(He  looks  at  her  searchingly.  Her  face  shows 
great  excitement  and  determination). 

MINISTER — The  honored  Commissioners  have 
broken  to  me  the  news  which  ye  doubtless  have 
come  to  speak  about.  I  have  a  righteous  anger  at 
the  rogue  who  started  playing  with  such  fearful 
fire.  (Turns  to'  Stone).  Tell  me  what  action  spake 
ye  of  if  the  poor  maid  is  trapped  with  cunning 
tongues  and  pronounced  guilty. 

STONE — She  will  be  tried  before  the  Council, 
straightway,  and  if  found  guilty  extirpated  at  the 
least. 

SELECTMEN — Ay,  away  with  all  workers  of  sor- 


ACT  III  45 

eery!  (Warawan  who  has  sat  smoking  in  the  chim 
ney-seat,  gets  up.  All  eyes  are  turned  at  once  upon 
him.  He  looks  for  a  fleeting  second  at  Mistress 
DreiVj  makes  a  sort  of  obeisance  before  the  Minister 
and  goes  out). 

STONE — Did  Warawan  take  note  of  what  was 
said,  think  you?  'Twas  a  strange  look  he  cast  on 
Mistress  Drew. 

MINISTER — He  is  to  be  trusted,  fear  him  not.  My 
people,  that  which  has  come  to  us  has  come  to  other 
peaceful  men.  Let  us  see  to  it  that  we  go  not 
rashly  but  as  before  God  who  is  supremest  Judge. 
'Twas  good  of  ye  and  kindly  to  come  to  me  when  ye 
need  not  have  come.  I  will  deal  righteously  as  God 
gives  me  strength. 

(All  look  at  him  tenderly  and  with  pity). 

ISRAEL  DREW — We  all  are  sure  of  that,  for  ye 
have  been  God's  messenger  to  us,  Minister. 

TORREY — (Speaking  to  Stone).  Ye  have  told 
him  how  the  maid  hath  wrought  machinations  on  his 
son? 

(Stone  nods  affirmation). 

MINISTER — Sirs,  ye  know  me  well  and  him  that 
is  to  follow  me  as  shepherd  of  your  souls.  He  has 
hid  naught  from  me  of  his  love  for  this  maid.  From 
that  day  she  came  amongst  us  like  a  beam  of  light 
out  of  the  greening  wood,  he's  loved  her  well.  I  too 
love  her  as  my  own  daughter  and  should  have  guard 
ed  her  more  tenderly. 

BAYLEY — (Darkly).  Tho  even  from  the  first, 
perhaps,  she  wrought  her  works. 

MINISTER — (Motions  for  silence).  Because  I 
saw  how  it  was  with  him  who  is  my  well-beloved,  I 


46  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

failed  not  at  all  times  thru  the  year  to  observe  with 
my  best  endeavors  what  manner  of  woman  she 
might  be,  and  now  before  I  learn  what  'tis  you  have 
to  lay  before  me,  let  me  say  that  I  would  stake  my 
life  upon  her  utter  innocence  of  guilt. 

MISTRESS  DREW — (Bitterly).  Methinks  it  is 
her  beauty,  like  a  child's,  that  now  misleads  thee 
Minister.  It  has  misled  us  all. 

ISRAEL  DREW — (Sternly).  Speak  when  thou  art 
spoken  to,  woman! 

MINISTER — Gently,  gently,  Israel  Drew.  Come 
friends,  say  now  what  ye  must. 

TORREY — (Rises  and  reads  from  a  paper).  Mis 
tress  Henchman,  Mistress  Drew,  Margaret  Stetson, 
Abigail  and  Lydia  Drew,  The  Widow  Palmer, 
Freegrace  Pettis  and  others,  all  have  seen  her  sor 
ceries  and  do  affirm  that  she  hath  many  times 
worked  sore  mischief  to  them  and  theirs. 

MINISTER — (In  surprised  tones).  But  the  child 
Margaret  dotes  upon  the  maid. 

TORREY — Ay,  an'  against  all  orders  follows  her 
in  her  mysterious  walks  in  fields  and  woods.  Truly 
the  child  has  been  her  undoing. 

MINISTER — How  so? 

MISTRESS  DREW — (Impetuously).  She  hath  told 
before  me  and  others  how,  in  the  secret  places  of  the 
forest,  she  hath  met  with  the  agents  of  the  Evil  One 
and  has  inscribed  her  name  within  his  book,  ay,  side 
by  side  with  Mistress  Dickinson. 

ISRAEL  DREW — Wert  thou  bidden  to  speak,  wo 


man 


TORREY — Nay,  Israel  Drew,  'twas  what  we  bid 
her  come  for.  Let  her  say  if  she  knows  aught  that 
will  enlighten  us. 


ACT  III  47 

MINISTER—  (Regretfully}.  'Tis  but  a  child,  the 
little  Margaret,  and  all  who  know  her  know  her 
elfin  spirit  and  fertile  imagination,  no  stress  should 
now  be  laid  upon  her  words. 

MISTRESS  DREW — (Persistently).  But  she  con 
fesses  that  she  cannot  help  herself,  must  follow  when 
she  hears  the  voice  of  Mistress  Dickinson.  It  mat 
ters  not  where  she  be,  if  that  voice  calls  she  hears  it 
and  must  go.  She  is  bewitched  indeed. 

MINISTER — (Looking  keenly  at  Goodwife 
Drew).  I  doubt  not  little  Margaret  will  make  a 
fine  writer  of  fables  one  day.  Proceed,  proceed. 

MISTRESS  DREW — My  oldest  daughter  is  be 
witched  by  her.  'Twas  thought  that  Master  John, 
thy  son,  did  favor  Pentecost  before  that  Mistress 
Dickinson  did  come  amongst  us.  However  that  be  I 
know  that  Pentecost  did  love  him. 

MINISTER — What  signs  shows  Pentecost  of  the 
strange  malady? 

MISTRESS  DREW — Oh,  Reverend  Sir,  she  is 
changed  utterly  from  that  sober  and  submissive  maid 
she  was.  In  place  of  seemly  raiment  she  doth  wish 
to  wear  silk  flauntingly  and  all  the  gewgaws  of  a 
sinful  worldling. 

MINISTER — Nay,  Nay!  I  know  the  maid  well. 
She  has  brain  to  spare.  What  gives  Mistress  Pente 
cost  as  the  reason  for  her  change? 

MISTRESS  DREW — She  says  as  drab  and  somber 
garb  and  conduct  brought  her  no  husband,  such  as 
she  could  take,  she  will  try  other  means.  'Tis  as 
like  her  true  self  as  the  day  the  night.  Alas,  my 
Pentecost ! 

MINISTER— She  likes  a  jest  well,  Mistress  Pente 
cost.  She  has  a  nature  rich  and  deep.  Who  shall 


48  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

say  what  our  true  selves  be  like  when  only  God 
doth  know  and  our  own  hearts?  I  know  my  son 
did  like  the  maiden  well,  but  never  did  he  love  her,  I 
am  sure.  Why  Goodman  Shepard  hopes  to  wed  her 
he  has  said. 

MISTRESS  DREW — (Angrily).  Nay,  they  shall 
not  wed,  she  should  have  the  best,  not  second-hand 
man  and  children  not  her  own  to  labor  for  and  toil 
her  fingers  to  the  bone.  Oh,  my  Pentecost! 

STONE — (Soothingly).  She  hath  much  to  com 
mend  her,  good  looks,  a  something  humorous  and  a 
smacking  of  good  sense.  I  pray  God  all  goes  well 
with  her. 

MINISTER — She's  noble  beyond  praising  I  do 
think.  What  hath  she  to  say  of  Mistress  Naomi? 

TORREY — She  says  a  free  man  who  could  pass  her 
by  would  be  a  very  stick  and  she  so  strong  upholds 
your  honored  son,  sir,  that  the  gossips  say  she  must 
be  mad,  because  they  know  she  loved  him  and  once 
had  hopes. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Weeping  stormingly).  Mis 
tress  Dickinson  hath  so  bewitched  her  she  knows  not 
what  she  thinks  or  what  she  says.  She  is  beside  her 
self  with  grief,  concealed. 

MINISTER — And  what  of  the  other  daughters. 
Lydia  and  Abigail?  What  say  they? 

GOODWIFE  DREW — They  know  the  truth.  They 
have  had  countless  evidences  of  evil  Mistress  Dickin 
son.  They  are  still  young  and  hardly  dare  to  ven 
ture  forth  after  nightfall  for  fear  of  the  Evil  One. 

MINISTER — What  say'st  thou,  Israel  Drew?  Are 
these  things  so  to  thee? 

GOODMAN  DREW — ( Uneasily).  I  am  a  busy  man, 
Worshipful  Minister.  I  do  take  the  say  so  of  my 


ACT  III  49 

women  folk,  but,  if  this  be  not  so,  'twill  be  a  sad  day 
in  my  family.  (Looks  grim).  My  daughters  do  af 
firm  that  comiing  on  Pentecost  suddenly,  as  she  sat  at 
carding  wool,  she  all  at  once  became  insensible,  star 
ing  and  rigid,  in  a  sort  of  trance,  and,  as  they  strove 
to  bring  the  life  back  to  her  hands  by  chafing  them, 
they  felt  a  shadow  passing  by  the  door,  and  saw  'twas 
Mistress  Dickinson  who  passed,  on  witching  of  some 
sort. 

MINISTER — A  sinful  superstition  seized  on  them. 
(Turns  to  Goodwife  Drew).  Go  to  thy  home  now, 
goodwife,  I  will  come  anon  and  talk  with  thee,  and 
thou  shalt  know  how  'tis  with  the  poor  maid. 

(Goodwife  Drew  goes  out  reluctantly). 

MINISTER — (To  the  men).  Tell  me,  now,  what 
had  the  Cowherd,  Freegrace  Pettis,  to  set  forth? 

TORRE Y — He  says  as  Mistress  Naomi  did  pass  one 
day  she  stopped  to  speak  of  his  full  apple  trees  on 
which  the  fruit  had  then  begun  to  form.  'Twas  not 
two  weeks  before  his  promised  harvest  was  nipped  in 
the  bud  and  the  fruit  withered  up  without  a  cause. 

MINISTER — His  trees  were  singed  by  fire.  I  know 
full  well.  I  went  to  see  them,  helped  put  out  the 
flame.  Had  he  aught  else  to  say? 

TORREY — Ay,  she  asked  him  for  a  jug  of  milk  one 
night  and  he  had  sold  it  all  and  could  not  favor  her. 
He  said  next  morning  when  he  went  to  drive  his  cow 
out  with  the  others  it  lay  in  a  spasm  and  all  its  stom 
ach  swelled  and  like  to  burst  and,  afterwards,  it  died. 

GOODY — (From  the  leanto,  shrilly).  Nay,  'twas 
not  so.  My  brother  skinned  the  beast  and  found  it 
was  diseased  and  died  o'  that. 

MINISTER — Goody!  Goody! 

(Murmurs  of  wrath  from  the  leanto). 


50  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

MINISTER — (Smiling  at  Goody).  Pray  Sirs,  for 
give  her,  and  proceed. 

TORREY — The  saddest  bit  of  all  that's  claimed,  to 
me,  is,  that  the  little  children  she  has  nursed  for  farm 
er  Shepard,  now  say  with  solemn  earnestness  that  she 
has  made  them  witches. 

MINISTER — They  know  not  what  they  say  and 
think  'tis  something  that's  desirable.  Poor  little 
ones,  I  know  they  love  her  well. 

TORREY — They  say  the  birds  talk  to  her  in  the 
woods  and  she  does  answer  them  in  their  own  tongue. 

MINISTER — Does  Goodnmn  Shepard  yet  know 
what  is  said? 

TORREY — He  is  not  one  to  notice  what  doth  pass, 
he's  all  for's  work. 

MINISTER — Would  God  that  might  be  said  of  oth 
ers  too.  You  spoke  of  Goodwife  Henchman,  too,  I 
think. 

TORREY — Ay,  she  has  said  that  often  from  her 
house  at  dead  of  night,  when  sleep  seemed  far  away, 
from  the  window*,  she  hath  seen  the  maid  Naomi 
Dickinson  venture  forth  again  and  yet  again;  only 
once,  altho  she  did  watch  well  saw  she  the  maid 
come  back.  Others  affirm  the  same. 

MINISTER — And  that  one  time  saw  she  the  maid 
return  ? 

TORREY — A  black  man  came  with  her  to  the  edge 
of  the  wood  and  she  came  on  alone. 

MINISTER — Nay,  friend,  that  I  cannot  credit.  The 
idle  mind  is  guilty  of  strange  sins  of  the  imagination, 
that  I  know  full  well,  and  that  the  women  of  our  set 
tlement  are  sick  of  that  malady,  I  am  convinced. 

GOODMAN  STONE — (Sternly).  I  have  known  my 
women  folks  to  err,  it  may  be — nay,  but  we  must 


ACT  III  51 

hold  firm  God's  faith  in  this  our  settlement. 

TORREY — Ay,  we  must  keep  sacred  that  which  has 
been  committed  unto  us. 

GOODMAN  DREW — (Darkly).  Almighty  God, 
can  we  be  wronging  her  ? 

MINISTER — By  all  that  ye  hold  sacred  it  is  so,  and 
every  accusation  that  ye  bring  can  be  explained  I 
doubt  not.  Oh  my  good  people,  think  on  this  woeful 
thing,  a  maid  that  has  known  sorrow  and  has  kept  her 
soul  bright  with  God's  promises  who  has  done  count 
less  goodnesses  to  you  and  yours,  caught  in  a  network 
malice  malign  has  wrought.  And  I  did  not  cry  out 
upon  such  sin,  I  doubt  not  God  would  save  the  maid. 

GOODMAN  STONE — I  did  come  with  frank  and 
open  mind  and  I  do  like  the  maid  but  for  the  safety 
of  our  settlement  I  council  that  she  be  brought  at  once 
to  trial.  If  she  be  innocent,  God  will  be  on  her  side. 

TORREY — 'Tis  well  said.  Our  intent  in  coming 
here  was  true.  We  must  ever  hold  the  standards  high 
that  men  must  live  by  if  they  bide  with  us.  Let  her 
come  to  trial. 

MINISTER — (Covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 
There  is  silence  for  a  moment  then  he  lifts  his  face). 
Good  friends,  I  know  the  maid  is  innocent,  but  let 
peace  reign  ambngst  us.  If  ye  will  it  so,  let  us  go 
now,  seek  out  the  maid  and  notify  her  of  the  decree, 
the  rest  lies  in  your  hands,  arrest  her  if  you  must. 
Yet  be  forewarned,  the  maid  is  innocent.  God  him 
self  will  save  her.  Come,  let  us  go  hence. 

(All  arise,  as  they  move  solemnly  toward  the  door 
there  is  a  clamor  outside,  loud  knocking  on  the  door. 
Goody  rushes  in  from  leanto  to  open  it  and  there  falls 
in,  half  beside  herself,  Mistress  Drew,  supported  by 
her  young  daughter,  Lydia,  and  followed  by  other 


52  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

women.) 

MINISTER — Nay,  nay,  Mistress  Drew,  calm  thy 
self.  (Turns  to  the  others).  Let  not  all  speak  at 
once.  What  betides,  Lydia? 

LYDIA — Alas,  sir,  as  my  mother  was  returning 
from  your  house,  at  about  ten  of  the  clock,  she  stopped 
for  a  moment's  confab  at  Goodwife  Henchman's  and 
they  both  saw  Mistress  Naomi  Dickinson  meet  with 
the  Black  Man  at  the  edge  of  the  dark  woods  that  is 
nearby. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Hysterically).  Aye,  she  is 
gone  with  that  vile  Prince  of  Darkness  whom  she 
serves.  Together  they  hold  evil  tryst  in  the  deep  for 
est. 

GOODY — (Maliciously).  Let's  after  them,  I  would 
I  might  see  the  Devil's  face  better  to  dodge  him  here 
after. 

MISTRESS  HENCHMAN — Nay,  Goody,  do  not  jest, 
for  what  we  see,  may  yet  condemn  the  maid. 

MINISTER — Let  us  go  and  seek  her,  and  so  make 
sure  what  'tis  befalls  and  not  on  slightest  pretext  pro 
nounce  her  mad  or  bad.  I  know  the  maid  is  innocent, 
I  am  not  afraid.  Come  my  people,  if  ye  be  as  honest 
in  your  contention  of  her  guilt,  follow  me. 

MISTRESS  DREW — Aye,  so  we  will,  I  see  ye  doubt 
our  words.  Well,  we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see. 

(Exeunt  all,  except  Goody,  minister  leading). 

GOODY — (Putting  the  room  to  rights).  I  am  no 
deaf  and  the  door  is  fu'  o'  cracks.  Oh,  these  blund- 
erin'  conceited  men,  that  canna  see  an  inch  beyond 
the  nose!  Could  they  no  guess  'twas  jealousy  prompt 
ed  Mistress  Drew's  tale  ?  Sure  'tis  a  bitter  pill  not 
one  daughter  wedded  yet.  I'm  no  sayin'  Mistress 
Drew's  no  honest  but  fair  mad  wi'  jealousy  she  is  for 


ACT  III  53 

sure.  Now,  my  poor  lassie!  What  to  do  for  thee. 
Aye,  she'll  need  her  sunshine  now,  poor  Naomi.  Gone 
with  the  Black  Man,  ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  Nay,  my  poor, 
poor  lamb,  Goody  will  save  thee  yet.  Trust  thy 
Goody,  lassie. 

(Takes  a  cape  from  a  nail  on  the  wall,  wraps  it 
about  her  and  goes  out). 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

SCENE  II 

The  stage  is  darkened  totally.  The  back  set  should 
represent  the  dark  forest.  The  curtain  raised  reveals 
by  torchlight  several  wigwams  set  in  a  wooded  place. 
From  out  the  gloom  at  the  left,  Warawan  emerges, 
leading  Naomi  by  the  hand.  She  wears  a  long  dark 
cloak  and  gauntlets.  Her  hood  has  fallen  back  and 
reveals  her  face  and  golden  hair.  At  a  low  call  from 
Warawan  several  Indians  and  squaws  appear  from 
the  wigwams.  They  have  torches  and  the  place  is 
quite  lighted  by  them. 

NAOMI — (Addressing  squaw).  Weetacum  how  is 
your  man  this  night  ?  Let  him  be  brought  forth  that 
I  may  dress  his  sores.  He  is  not  patient  and  I  fear 
will  bear  the  plague  marks  all  his  life  long  for  it. 
(The  sick  Indian  is  brought  out  on  bankets  and 
Naomi  kneels  spreading  ointment  upon  his  sores  and 
binding  them  with  lint.  Warawan  stands  by  holding 
back  her  cloak  that  her  hands  may  be  free.  His  ex 
pression  is  one  of  love  and  reverence.  As  she  works 
there  appear  to  the  left,  amongst  the  brush,  the  faces- 
of  the  minister,  Mistress  Drew,  Drew,  Lydia  and 
others.  They  are  motionless  and  the  awestricken  ex 
pressions  tell  their  own  story  of  understanding  and 
dismay ) . 

NAOMI — (Rising  at  last).  'Tis  a  sad  scourge, 
Warawan.  Have  Fleet  Foot  brought  forth  now. 

(A  young  brave  is  brought  out.  It  is  apparent  that 
54 


ACT  III  55 

he  is  very  sick.  His  head  moves  constantly  from  side 
to  side  and  his  hands  pick  at  the  blanket) . 

NAOMI — (Sadly).  He  is  burning  away  with  fev 
er.  Get  me  a  porringer,  Warawan.  I  will  bestow 
the  best  I  know  to  quiet  him.  It  will  not  suffice  I 
fear  to  save  his  young  life.  (Quite  loudly).  Fleet 
Foot,  dost  thou  know  me?  I  am  Mistress  Naomi, 
thy  friend. 

(  The  young  brave  puts  his  hands  together  upon  his 
breast  as  if  in  prayer) . 

NAOMI — (Her  hand  on  his  forehead) .  Aye,  Fleet 
Foot,  the  Great  Spirit  listens.  All  that  you  would 
have  Him  know  He  knows.  Be  at  peace  my  brother. 

(She  rises  to  attend  a  squaw  who  has  come  from 
one  of  the  wigwams  with  a  sick  papoose  on  a  little 
rug). 

NAOMI — Ah,  it  is  Little  Pigeon,  lay  him  down, 
good  mother.  (She  croons  over  the  baby  as  she  an- 
noints  his  sores). 

NAOMI — (To  the  squaw).  Thou  did'st  not  bind 
his  hands  as  I  bid  thee.  He  will  bear  pox  scars  for 
all  these  hurts  that  so  distress  him  now.  Poor  little 
brother!  Nay,  nay,  let  him  cry.  It  is  but  natural.  I 
hurt  him  so. 

(She  binds  the  child  with  lint  and  bandages.  War 
awan  stands  over  her  anticipating  her  every  want. 
When  she  has  finished  she  goes  toward  one  of  the  wig 
wams). 

NAOMI — I  will  but  glance  in  at  the  others,  Wara 
wan,  to-morrow  night  I'll  attend  them. 

(She  *V  gone  but  a  moment  and  comes  forth  her 
eyes  very  big  and  dark ) . 

NAOMI — Warbeck  is  no  longer  there,  Warawan. 
His  place  is  empty.  Has  the  Great  Spirit  called  him? 


56  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

(  The  Indian  bows  his  head) . 

NAOMI — It  is  well,  my  brother.  Shall  we  go  now? 

(She  looks  up  at  the  starry  night,  then  at  the  group 
of  dejected  Indians  about  her). 

NAOMI — So  beautiful  a  world,  Warawan,  God  is 
in  it,  sure  all  will  be  well  with  us,  the  scourge  will 
soon  be  gone.  Bid  them  all  be  of  good  cheer,  my 
brother  Warawan,  say  in  the  settlement  we  pray  the 
Great  Spirit  may  restore  them  soon. 

(She  stands  with  raised  hands  clasped  as  tho  pray 
ing.  One  or  two  Indians  come  and  touch  her  cloak. 
She  goes  away  slowly  hand  in  hand  with  Warawan. 
The  Indians  go  about  their  business.  At  length  the 
Minister  and  his  companions  appear  from  the  brush). 

GOODMAN  DREW — (Pale  and  grim  confronts 
Goodwife  Drew).  What  have  you  to  say  now,  wo 


man 


GOOD  WIFE  DREW — (Wailing).  Woman!  and  I 
his  lawful  wife. 

MINISTER — Be  patient  with  her,  Israel. 

(He  goes  about  among  the  wigwams  speaking  to 
the  Indians). 

GOODMAN  DREW — (Sternly).  Naught  but  con 
fession,  sir,  will  bring  relief.  She  suffers  from  a  fit 
of  conscience.  Speak  woman  and  be  free. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Moaning).  I  am  not  all  evil. 
Neighbors,  hear  me  now.  My  heart  had  gone  out 
after  covetousness.  I  was  angered  at  the  maid, 
Naomi,  and  accused  her  wrongfully,  but  I  did  think 
she  was  bewitched.  Oh,  I  repent  me,  but  what  can  I 
do  else? 

MINISTER — Calm  thyself,  Mistress  Drew,  all  shall 
yet  be  well. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Nay,  not  for  me,  my  lies  were 


ACT  III  57 

spun  of  hateful  jealousies,  my  sins  be  on  my  own  head. 

GOODMAN  TORREY — Ay,  Minister,  our  sins  be  on 
our  own  heads,  did  we  not  all  condemn  the  maid,  un 
heard,  she  who  has  ministered  to  us  and  ours  since 
first  she  come  amongst  us. 

MINISTER — (Sadly).  Ye  do  repent,  I  know. 
Fear  not!  God's  overwhelming  hand  will  set  all 
right.  Is  His  arm  shortened,  think  you?  Be  at  peace. 
Show  forth  your  repentance,  all,  in  goodness  to  the 
maid.  Nay,  never  let  her  guess  what  has  transpired. 
Come,  let  us  go  to  our  homes  now.  The  hour  is  late. 

(Exit  all  thru  woods). 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

SCENE  III 

Interior  of  Schoolmaster's  house  where  Naomi  has 
lived  with  her  father  and  still  lives  when  not  at  her 
daily  tasks  at  Goodman  Shephard's  house.  Fireplace 
with  seats.  Table  board  and  trestle  seats  as  in  Min 
ister's  house.  A  few  shelves  against  the  wall,  map 
on  the  wall,  etc.  A  lighted  torch  in  the  chimney  place 
dimly  shows  Goody  entering  the  room  dressed  as 
when  she  left  the  Minister's. 

GOODY — Naomi  Dickinson,  where  hast  thou  hid 
thyself?  I  am  Goody,  thy  heart's  true  friend,  come 
forth. 

(Flings  aside  her  cape  impatiently  and  going  to  the 
hearth  stirs  the  logs  to  a  glow). 

GOODY — Nay,  lassie,  do  not  keep  me  waiting.  I 
have  news  for  thee  that's  urgent. 

(Lights  a  candle  on  the  table). 

GOODY — (Impatiently).  Where  is  the  lass,  out  at 
this  hour  of  night. 

(Goes  to  the  door  puts  her  hands  about  her  eyes 
and  peers  into  the  dark). 

GOODY — (Calls  out).  Oh,  there  thou  art.  Naomi! 
It  is  I,  thy  Goody  waiting  thee.  Who's  with  thee 
child?  Oh,  I  see  'tis  Warawan,  bring  him  hither. 

(Enter  Naomi  followed  by  the  friendly  Indian). 

GOODY — Hast  been  to  visit  the  sick,  Naomi?  I 
thot  thou  would'st  never  come. 

NAOMI — Why  Goody,  dear  friend,  what  art  thou 

58 


ACT  III  59 

doing  here  at  this  late  hour? 

(She  puts  her  hands  on  Goody's  cheeks  affection 
ately  ) . 

GOODY — (Gravely).  How  much  doth  Warawan 
comprehend  think  you,  Naomi,  of  our  sayings  and 
doings  in  the  settlement? 

NAOMI — There's  little  that  escapes  him  Goody, 
'tis  a  bright  brain  and  a  ready  wit  and  hand.  Why 
do  you  ask,  friend? 

GOODY — Is  he  true,  think  you  ? 

NAOMI — I  would  trust  him  with  my  life,  Goody. 
He's  as  true  as  steel. 

GOODY — (Beckons  the  Indian  from  his  seat  by 
the  hearth).  Listen,  both.  I  am  but  now  come  from 
a  meeting  at  the  Minister's  where  I  was  present  yet 
not  present.  Being  in  the  leanto  and  the  door  full  of 
cracks  I  did  plainly  overhear  the  selectmen  and  the 
council  speak  of  the  accusation  that  jealousy  and  idle 
tongues  have  brought  against  thee,  Naomi. 

NAOMI — (Takes  Goody's  hands  in  hers).  Do  not 
waste  words,  Goody,  the  hour  is  late,  tell  me  at  once, 
what  decision  did  they  come  at  regarding  me? 

GOODY — (Angrily).  The  Minister  did  stand  for 
thy  innocence  lass.  Aye,  he  did  speak  for  thee  most 
valiantly. 

NAOMI — Goody,  Goody  dear  friend  do  not  fear  to 
tell  me. 

(The  Indian  stands  with  averted  face,  listening 
intently) . 

GOODY — The  others  did  adjudge  thee  guilty, 
sweet,  they  will  come  anon  to  arrest  thee.  Thou  wilt 
be  tried  on  the  morrow.  What  thy  fate  might  be  I 
know  not,  if  thou  didst  bide  to  see.  But  thou  shalt  not 
so  bide  to  be  the  butt  of  jealousy  and  superstition. 


60  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

NAOMI — Hush,  let  me  think.  I  must  think  first  of 
him  my  lover.  How  it  will  be  with  him,  if  I  depart. 
Will  he,  too,  mayhap  think  me  mad  or  bad  ?  I  could 
not  bear  it ! 

GOODY — And  he  were  here  he'd  thrust  the  lie  down 
their  throats,  poor  wastrels.  They  will  not  listen  to 
the  man  of  God  who's  old  and  wise  in  understand 
ing  of  them.  Come,  make  haste  lass.  I  will  help  thee 
make  ready  and  Warawan  shalt  conduct  thee  by  the 
way  thou  didst  come,  back  to  the  Bay  Settlement, 
where,  please  God,  thou  wilt  be  safe. 

NAOMI — (Very  white  but  with  exalted  expres 
sion).  Goody,  thou  dost  advise  me  well,  thou  art  my 
true  friend.  It  will  leave  the  field  free  for  my  loved 
one's  work  for  God.  I  will  be  gone  at  once,  'tis  best 
so.  Come,  help  me  Goody,  I  have  been  making  ready 
to  depart  when  I  had  once  more  seen  Master  Syl 
vester.  Warawan  knew,  he  was  to  guide  me  hence. 

(Warawan  takes  a  shawl  spreads  it  upon  the  table- 
board,  they  place  the  few  belongings  of  Naomi  upon 
it.  Warawan  ties  it  up,  stepping  about  noiselessly. 
Goody  goes  to  him  and  puts  her  two  hands  on  his 
shoulders,  looking  into  his  face). 

GOODY — Warawan,  faithful  one,  dost  understand 
thy  task?  The  Great  Spirit  asks  thee,  the  Red 
Brother  to  guide  His  child  over  the  rough  roads  to 
the  Bay  Settlement  where  He  will  care  for  her. 

WARAWAN — (With  exaltation).  The  Great 
Spirit  asks  the  Red  Brother,  Warawan  knows!  War 
awan  will  be  faithful.  Come !  Come !  Warawan  will 
guide  the  angel  one.  Indian  is  much  happy,  woman. 
The  Great  Spirit  loves  Warawan  much.  Come, 
come. 

GOODY — (Drying  her  eyes.     To  Naomi).     Oh, 


ACT  III  6 1 

lassie,  how  the  heathen  shame  us  who  call  ourselves 
the  servants  of  God.  Warawan  will  guide  thee.  No 
harm  will  come  to  thee  save  over  his  dead  body.  (Puts 
her  arms  about  Naomi).  Shall  I  go  with  thee, 
Naomi,  say  the  word.  'Tis  breaking  my  old  heart 
to  part  with  thee,  but  I  believe  it's  God's  will  them 
should'st  go.  May  his  angels  be  about  thee.  Ay, 
they  will. 

NAOMI — (Looking  into  the  old  woman's  eyes). 
Stay,  Goody,  and  do  thy  work  here,  thou  hast  been 
my  good  angel  ,  do  one  thing  more  for  me.  When 
Master  Sylvester  returns,  tell  him  how  it  was  with 
me  and  that  I  loved  him  far  too  well  to  stay  and  be  a 
hindrance  to  him.  I'm  sure  that  he  will  know  that 
I  was  innocent,  but  tell  him  that  was  my  last  word 
to  thee.  Before  God  I  am  innocent. 

(She  puts  her  arms  about  the  old  woman's  neck 
and  hides  her  face  against  her  shoulder,  then  turns 
and  takes  the  hand  of  Warawan  and  goes  out.  Goody 
stands  rocking  her  body  to  and  fro,  her  hands  over  her 
eyes). 

CURTAIN 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  I 

(Interior  of  Minister  s  house  as  in  Act  III,  Scene 
I,  except  table  is  not  set.  Minister  sits  by  the  fire). 

MINISTER — 'Tis  passing  sad  evil  should  come 
out  of  good.  Poor  Mistress  Drew,  I  fear  Israel 
will  be  hard  upon  her.  He's  an  upright  man.  'Twas 
the  mother's  heart  coveting  for  her  child  made  the 
mischief.  I  doubt  not  now  her  conscience  is  aroused 
she'll  leave  no  stone  unturned  to  make  it  up  to  the 
maid.  (There's  a  clamor  outside,  loud  knocking 
on  the  door.  The  Minister  goes  to  open  it  and  there 
falls  in  half  beside  herself,  Mistress  Drew.  She  is 
supported  this  time  by  her  daughter  Pentecost.  Be 
hind  them  an  excited  throng  is  gathered). 

MINISTER — (Quickly).  What  is  it,  Pentecost? 
What  ails  thy  mother. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Rocking  herself  to  and  fro). 
Her  blood  be  on  my  head!  'Twas  I  that  drove  her 
forth  with  lies  spun  from  my  wicked  jealousies. 

MINISTER — (Taking  the  woman  s  hand  leads 
her  to  a  bench).  Nay,  Nay,  Mistress  Drew,  now 
calm  thyself.  God  is  over  all.  (Turns  to  the  oth 
ers).  Let  not  all  speak  at  once.  What  ails  thy 
mother,  Pentecost? 

PENTECOST — My   mother   couldn't   rest   till   she 

had   gone  to  bid  the  maid   Naomi   dwell  with   us, 

hereafter,  and  not  bide  alone  in  her  dead  father's 

house,  and  she  did  find  the  cabin  empty  and  bereft 

62 


ACT  IV  63 

of  that  sweet  light  that  has  so  gladdened  it.  Naomi 
has  fled,  Minister,  and  taken  with  her,  her  little  all, 
no  one  knows  whither. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — Her  blood  be  on  my  head. 
Oh,  I  have  sinned  grievously!  (Moans  continu 
ously). 

(Goodman  Drew  enters  the  room,  looks  at  his 
wife  distastefully). 

GOODMAN  DREW — Have  done,  woman.  Pente 
cost,  canst  thou  not  quiet  her?  I  would  be  heard. 

PENTECOST — (Her  arm  about  her  mother).  She 
suffers  from  her  conscience,  father,  be  patient  with 
her. 

GOODMAN  DREW — (To  Minister).  The  men 
have  returned  and  say  that  Mistress  Naomi's  not 
in  the  Indian  fort,  Minister.  There's  no  time  to 
lose.  She  may  be  wandering  in  the  forest  now. 

GOODWIFE  DREW — (Breaking  out  afresh).  Lost! 
Lost!  Lost!  Her  blood  be  on  my  head!  I  have 
betrayed  the  innocent. 

MINISTER — (Taking  her  hand).  Thou  hast  re 
pented  and  confessed.  Fear  not.  God's  overwhelm 
ing  hand  will  set  all  right.  He  will  care  for  His 
own.  Is  His  arm  shortened  think  you?  Be  at 
peace!  (Turns  to  the  others).  Has  aught  been  seen 
of  Warawan?  He  should  be  sent  at  once  to  seek 
her.  (Lifts  his  voice).  Goody!  Goody!  (There 
is  no  sound  from  the  leanto).  She  sleeps  through 
all  the  clamor.  It  is  well.  She  may  not  miss  me. 
Come  neighbors  let's  be  gone.  (Takes  his  soft  hat 
from  a  peg). 

GOODMAN  DREW — Nay,  Minister,  it  is  no  task 
for  thee.  Bide  here  while  we  go  search  until  the 
maid  be  found.  I  promise  thee  no  path  shall  be  un- 


64  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

touched.     When  I  cease  to  search  for  her  I  shall  be 
dead.     I'll  find  the  maid  or  perish. 

MINISTER — Do  not  deny  me  what  is  but  my 
right.  She  is  my  son's  beloved  and  I  go  in  his  stead. 
Now  every  man  to  the  work  and  goodwives,  maids, 
pray  without  ceasing  the  while  we  be  gone.  Ye  may 
do  more  than  we  to  bring  her  back.  (Pentecost  is 
seen  bidding  Goodman  Shepherd  Godspeed  on  the 
search ) . 

CURTAIN 


ACT  IV 

SCENE  II 

(One  o'clock  of  the  same  night). 

A  bit  of  forest  broken  by  a  bridle-path.  Ever 
green  trees  and  oaks  on  either  side  of  path.  As 
curtain  rises  Naomi  and  Warawan  are  seen  emerg 
ing  from  the  woods  at  the  extreme  left  of  stage. 
By  Warawan 's  torch  their  faces  are  plainly  seen. 
Warawan  stops  suddenly  his  intelligent  face  illu 
mined  with  joy  and  relief.  He  takes  a  leathen  flask 
from  his  pocket  and  passes  it  to  Naomi. 

WARAWAN — Drink,  angel  one,  for  we  have  come 
at  a  good  pace  and  long,  weary  thou  must  be,  but 
soon  thou  shalt  rest,  ay,  soon  thou  shalt  rest  in 
safety. 

(While  she  is  drinking  he  stoops  and  listens  in 
tently.  As  he  rises  Naomi  looks  at  him  with  startled 
eyes). 

NAOMI — What  dost  thou  hear  Warawan?  Oh 
friend,  tell  me  if  we  are  followed.  I  will  not  go 
back,  nay,  I  will  not  go  back!  Take  my  life,  War 
awan,  let  me  sleep  here  in  the  forest,  all  will  be 
well  with  me. 

WARAWAN — (Tenderly).  Nay,  angel  one,  the 
Great  Spirit  is  leading  thy  red  brother.  Fear  not! 
No  one  shall  harm  thee,  Warawan  has  said  it.  He 
hears  no  followers,  he  hears — 

(He  stops  turns  toward  right  of  stage  and  again 
listens.  As  they  so  stand  there  emerges  from  forest 
at  right  of  stage  the  heroic  figure  of  the  young  Min 
ister,  Naomi's  lover,  returning  from  Harvard  Col- 

65 


66  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

lege.  His  horse  lifts  a  restless  head,  the  young  man 
sees  the  torchlight  and  reins  in  his  horse.  Warawan 
lays  one  hand  firmly  upon  Naomi's  wrist  and  tak 
ing  a  step  forward  holds  the  torch  before  his  face. 
In  his  deerskin  leggins,  leather  tunic,  moccasins  and 
long  hair  he  presents  a  striking  figure  to  Sylvester). 

SYLVESTER — Warawan,  thou  art  come  to  meet 
me.  Speak,  is  my  honored  father  ill? 

(Warawan  steps  aside  and  moves  his  torch  back 
ward  revealing  the  lovely  face  of  the  girl). 

SYLVESTER — Naomi !     Naomi ! 

NAOMI — (Wildly,  turning  toward  the  Indian). 
Warawan,  thou  hast  betrayed  me!  Oh  Warawan 
who  wert  my  friend! 

SYLVESTER — (Leaping  from  his  horse).  Thou'rt 
come  to  meet  me,  Naomi.  Oh  what  a  crown  to  my 
joyful  day.  (Opens  his  arms).  Come  to  me  Wil 
derness  Rose! 

WARAWAN — Ay,  angel  one,  so  the  Great  Spirit 
bids  thee.  Peace  be  to  thee  and  Warawan's  white 
brother!  (He  disappears  as  if  by  magic). 

NAOMI —  ( Wildly ) .     Warawan !     Warawan ! 

SYLVESTER — Sweet,  I  am  waiting,  come  to  me. 

NAOMI — (Distraught).  How  shall  I  turn?  I 
know  not  where  to  go. 

SYLVESTER — (Advancing  and  clasping  her  to  his 
breast).  There  is  no  place  for  thee  but  this,  the 
haven  of  my  care  where  thou  shalt  stay,  beloved  and 
cherished  till  our  God  takes  thee  to  Himself.  (Lifts 
her  face  up  and  looks  upon  it). 

SYLVESTER — (Sadly).  Only  a  month  have  I  been 
gone  from  thee,  how  hast  thou  grown  so  wan  and 
sad,  my  sunshine  of  the  wilderness,  in  but  a  month's 
time? 


ACT  IV  67 

NAOMI — (Makes  as  though  to  withdraw  herself). 
I  must  be  gone,  it  is  not  meet  that  I  should  thus 
be  with  thee  who  art  now  as  a  minister  of  God. 

SYLVESTER — Thou  knowest  well  my  mettle,  Na 
omi.  I'll  never  let  thee  go.  Now,  sweet,  obey, 
open  thy  heart  to  me.  What  has  transpired  since 
thus  I  held  thee,  what  darkening  cloud  has  passed 
across  my  sun  ? 

NAOMI — (Harshly).  They  say  I  am  a  witch  and 
would  do  ill  to  thee  and  this  and  that  one.  What 
hast  thou  to  do  with  powers  of  darkness  Minister  of 
God?  Nay,  I  must  be  gone. 

SYLVESTER — (With  triumph  and  confidence). 
Look  up,  Naomi,  look  me  in  the  face.  Canst  say 
in  truth  that  thou  so  reasonable  dost  hark  to  such 
defaming?  Art  thou  a  witch?  Nay,  dear  one,  I 
thought  thy  sense  did  too  far  outweigh  sensitive 
ness  to  listen  to  such  chatter.  Where  wert  thou 
going,  Naomi,  at  dead  of  night  with  Warawan  ? 

NAOMI — (Puts  her  hands  over  her  face).  The 
little  children  whom  I  loved  and  tended  play  I  have 
made  them  witches,  oh,  I  think  my  heart  did  break 
to  hear  them. 

SYLVESTER — Ay,  I  have  heard  them  say  many  a 
time,  let's  play  I'm  God,  or  Satan,  or  St.  Paul. 
The  fancy  of  the  infant  mind  doth  lead  to  any 
words  that  chance  to  come.  Be  brave,  love. 

NAOMI — Ay,  so  I  must  and  will.  It  took  me 
long  to  credit  what  was  said  about  myself  who  have 
so  loved  this  people.  But  when  at  last  I  knew,  I 
vowed  a  vow  that  I  would  never,  never  ban  thy  life, 
my  lover  and  my  friend  and  minister.  I  must 
be  gone. 

SYLVESTER — Nay,  thou  shalt  bless  it,  sweet,  with 


68  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

all  good  counsel.  I  know  how  all  has  come  about 
and  it  is  not  because  I  think  more  highly  of  myself 
than  a  man  ought  I  say  I  am  at  fault.  Where 
wouldst  thou  go  dear  heart? 

NAOMI — I  must  return  to  Newtown.  There 
they  know  me  well.  There  I  cannot  harm  thee.  I 
must  go,  nay  say  no  more,  dear  friend. 

SYLVESTER — And  lover,  say  it  sweet.  Naomi 
'twas  jealousy  that  brought  thee  to  this  place.  I 
have  been  warned  that  one  I  like  right  well  has 
valiant  advocate  in  her  good  mother,  whose  aim 
these  many  months  has  been  to  banish  thee  from  out 
our  settlement.  I  should  have  been  here  on  guard. 

NAOMI — 'Tis  Mistress  Drew  thou  meanest.  She 
hath  said  that  once  ere  first  you  saw  me  you  did  love 
her  daughter  Pentecost,  the  strong  splendid  one.  I 
do  not  blame  thee.  I  love  her  too! 

SYLVESTER — If  so  she  thought,  'twas  nothing 
more  than  thought.  Pentecost  is  my  good  friend. 
She  hath  a  better  brain  than  common  and  knows 
how  to  be  companion,  sharer  of  a  jest  or  bit  of  wis 
dom.  I  do  like  her  well,  but  love  her  I  never  did, 
nor  did  she  me.  Our  good  friend  Richard  Shepard 
hath  his  eye  upon  her  and  will  wed,  if  Pentecost  will 
have  him,  I  do  know. 

NAOMI — Much  talking,  though  it  explain,  can 
not  change  the  state  of  matters  as  they  stand.  I 
must  go,  dear  friend. 

SYLVESTER — Ay,  you  shall  go  back  with  me,  my 
dearest  one,  of  that  be  sure. 

NAOMI — Methinks  'tis  hardly  fitting  I  should 
preach  to  one  destined  to  be  a  priest  of  God.  I 
only  bid  you  think  on  this  and  know  that  as  you 
purpose  to  perform  your  service  as  perfectly  as  man 


ACT  IV  69 

may,  you  must  not  have  a  stone  thrust  under  foot  to 
stumble  on  by  one  who  loves  you  more  than  life  it 
self. 

SYLVESTER — (Sternly).  God  knows  I  would 
perform  His  will  as  a  man  may  even  to  putting 
aside  my  heart's  desire  and  going  lonely  through  this 
earthly  life,  if  there  were  needed  such  a  sacrifice. 
But  nothing  points  to  such  an  issue,  nay,  I  feel  the 
very  soul  of  me  cry  out  on  such  a  mockery.  Be 
silent  Naomi. 

NAOMI — (Persistently).  Thou  wilt  not  see,  nor 
will  I  be  that  stone  set  for  thy  stumbling.  Let  me 
go  back  to  Newtown  whence  I  came.  I  will  take 
up  my  cross  with  courage  there  and  bear  it  bravely 
as  a  woman  may  till  the  death  angel  bring  me  my 
release. 

SYLVESTER — (Kisses  her  closed  eyes).  Ay,  thou 
art  ripe  for  sacrifice  both  thine  and  mine,  but  I  will 
have  none  of  it  nor  will  God  either.  Ease  thy  dis 
tracted  bosom  of  the  thought.  I  promise  thee  that 
ere  a  week  has  fled  thou  shalt  be  in  thy  rightful 
place  in  our  good  settlement,  honored  and  beloved. 

NAOMI — It  cannot  be,  my  friend.    It  is  too  late. 

SYLVESTER — It  must  be,  dear  one,  else  do  I,  too, 
depart.  Listen,  for  the  issue  is  more  far  reaching, 
graver,  than  you  know. 

NAOMI — Not  graver,  John? 

SYLVESTER — Ay,  graver.  In  the  dim  fastnesses 
of  the  forest  I  have  walked  and  thought  for  many  a 
day  of  this  new  world  and  how,  upon  each  who  for 
his  soul's  sake  came  into  the  wilderness  there  falls  a 
trial  of  his  every  part  if  he  be  man,  ay  God's  man 
for  the  work  of  building  a  new  nation,  and  God's 
woman  I  would  add. 


70  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

NAOMI — (Heroically).  I  know  that  them  wilt 
prove  true,  be  a  rock  to  found  upon,  my  Minister. 

SYLVESTER — Yet  thou  wouldst  handicap  me  for 
the  work  by  taking  all  thy  strength  away  from  me. 

NAOMI — Nay,  I  would  have  thee  fight  and  win. 
Am  I  not  going  for  that  very  cause? 

SYLVESTER — My  life  is  wrapped  up  in  the  enter 
prise.  I  seem  to  see  the  future  looming  large  with 
promises  that  could  not  be  fulfilled  in  the  old  world 
but,  in  God's  providence,  may  be  fulfilled  in  this. 

NAOMI — (Filled  with  awe  at  his  vision).  I 
know  how  with  uprightness  and  with  truth  thou 
wilt  lead  this  people  in  thy  allotted  time. 

SYLVESTER — And  side  by  side  to  help  me,  urge 
me  on,  thou,  grace  informed  one,  shall  keep  pace 
with  me. 

NAOMI — Ay,  in  my  spirit  I  will  be  at  hand.  The 
constant  prayers  I  shall  be  putting  up  will  bear  thee 
on  like  wings.  Farewell,  farewell.  (Tears  silence 
her). 

SYLVESTER — Come,  welcome  tears,  and  freshen 
with  thy  showers  the  poor  crushed  heart  that  else  is 
like  to  break.  (Holds  her  to  him). 

(His  horse  in  the  thicket  shies  and  acts  ner 
vously.  Voices  are  heard  and  the  beating  of  brush. 
Goodman  Drew,  wild  of  countenance  and  dishevelled 
suddenly  appears  on  the  path). 

NAOMI — (Wildly  to  Sylvester).  If  thou  dost 
love  me  thou  wilt  take  my  life,  John.  I'll  not  go 
back,  I  never  will  go  back. 

SYLVESTER — Courage  Naomi,  let  me  deal  with 
them.  (To  Drew  and  others).  What  do  ye  here? 
Call  ye  one  another  men?  Nay,  cowards  all  doing 
the  Devil's  work  of  persecuting  the  innocent.  What 


ACT  IV  '/< 

will  ye  answer  in  God's  Judgment  when  ye  are 
called  to  answer  for  these  black  and  heinous  lies? 
(Shaking  his  fist  in  Drew's  face).  Speak  Judas! 

DREW — (Aghast).  Master  Sylvester!  Master 
Sylvester ! 

SYLVESTER — (Bursting  with  wrath).  Ay,  Mas 
ter  Sylvester,  man  as  well  as  Priest  ye  have  to  deal 
with  now,  no  unprotected  woman.  What  will  ye 
do  in  that  dread  day  when  ye  must  answer  for  all 
idle  wtords  ?  Out  with  it,  scandalmongers  all.  What 
have  ye  to  say? 

DREW — (In  horror).     Peace,  peace,  sir,  we — 

SYLVESTER — Peace!  And  what  peace  gave  ye 
this  angel  who  has  served  ye  all  with  sweetest  min 
istry?  To  what  extremities  have  ye  driven  God's 
child?  Better  for  ye  if  a  mill-stone  were  hanged 
about  your  neck  and  ye  were  drowned  in  the  depths 
of  the  sea. 

DREW — (Sternly).     Sir,  let  me  speak. 

MINISTER — Speak  on! 

DREW — (Doffs  his  hat  and  comes  to  Naomi). 
Mistress  Naomi,  God  has  bid  the  storm  that  late 
broke  over  thee  to  be  a  calm.  It  is  my  bitter  sor 
row  Mistress  Drew  hath  so  maligned  and  troubled 
thee  and  she  repents  now  and  hath  said  she  is  the 
cause  of  all.  Despite  her  error  she  doth  worship 
God  and  she  is  half  beside  herself  tonight  her  sin 
has  scourged  her  so.  Dost  thou  forgive?  Ay,  be 
thy  noble  self  as  thou  hast  ever  been.  Dost  thou 
forgive  ? 

NAOMI — (Transfigured).  Ay,  Goodman  Drew, 
as  before  the  throne  of  mighty  God  I  do  forgive, 
fully  and  freely. 

(Gives  Drew  her  hand). 


7i  WILDERNESS  ROSE 

SYLVESTER — Is  this  true,  Israel  Drew,  that  thou 
hast  said? 

DREW — Ay,  Master  Sylvester,  God  be  thanked 
our  eyes  were  opened  in  season.  We  know  now  the 
maid  is  innocent.  Perchance  God's  hand  was  in  this 
trial,  for  we  know  thy  mettle,  now.  Thou  art  a 
man.  (Grasps  Sylvester  by  the  hand).  Let  us 
hasten  now  I  pray,  for  they  do  suffer  who  are  left 
behind  thinking  that  Mistress  Naomi  is  lost. 

(Disappears  in  thicket  with  others). 

SYLVESTER — Now  is  my  promise  made  good, 
Sweet.  They  will  love  thee  more  than  was  pos 
sible  before  they  sinned  against  thee.  Come,  here's 
my  patient  horse,  mount  Naomi,  God  wills  it. 

(He  lifts  her  to  the  saddle  and  as  he  walks  be 
side  her  Warawan  is  heard  nearby  singing  a  hymn 
of  praise). 

SYLVESTER — 'Tis  our  red  brother  praising  God, 

Naomi,  my  heart  is  in  the  song. 

f 

CURTAIN 


YB  3156 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


